Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1: Bystander’s Karma

Awful.

That was Mel’s first thought when she looked at her reflection in the mirror, pale faced and eyes marked with dark circles from tossing and turning the past few nights, her cheek bones were still sunken despite her appetite finally seeming to return.

There was a scale in the corner of her small bathroom, but she’d not dared to step on it even once since before she’d moved in with the Marauders. The supplements in the mirror cabinet were easy to access too, and as a medical professional, she knew how important it was to get her iron levels back up to a healthy level post-birth, but just opening the bottles seemed like a chore.

Maybe ‘awful’ was a word to describe her mental health as well.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Mel blinked when she heard the alarm clock go off back in the room, drawing her away from dissociating as she watched the foamy toothpaste wash down the sink.

Beep. Beep. Beep—

It continued to beep incessantly, drawing a defeat sigh from the woman as she finished rinsing her brush and set it delicately back into the cup on the countertop.

Truthfully, Mel didn’t know why she even bothered setting an alarm. She was always awake before it, accustomed to stolen bits of unrestful sleep before her daughter would inevitably wake her up every few hours and then too anxious to sleep deeply and miss her work time, she’d sit in bed agonising over everything that went wrong.

She knew it wasn’t healthy. She knew she shouldn’t do it. But what else was she supposed to do when it felt like it was only a matter of time before the rug would be pulled out from under her again.

Mel woke up every day and dropped Leah off to daycare before she’d clock in to work at the Jackson hospital. And it was never anything like her work at the WLF base in Seattle where she was pulling shrapnel from skin or stitching up knife wounds nearly all day. Jackson’s hospital was the most calm place she’d ever worked, dealing with joint pains for elderly patients or plastering on a flowery bandaid for a kid who’d fell over in the playground at recess. The most exciting thing she’d have to do is put a splint on for a carpenter who’d been too busy laughing with his colleagues and accidentally smashed his thumb with the hammer instead of the nail head. Surgery cost resources that Jackson didn’t seem to have, so Mel would only ever find herself in the operating room once a month- which considering how recent her employment was, really wasn’t that often.

She felt out of place, and between the mundane cases she’d get, Mel would find herself in the break room, a medical textbook propped open next to some sandwiches that Janet would pack her every day, listening to the background chatter of the other workers. Most of the staff were middle aged white ladies whose pastime was to complain about their husbands or gossip about someone else in the community in search of scandal that would spice up their otherwise lacklustre lives.

When Mel had confided in Janet about how terrible her coworkers were, Janet had told her that was what she could expect from a 9-5 before the world had ended too.

So, the reality was that Mel was on a hamster wheel for the past two months, looking forward to the weekend where she could have a lie in because Janet would look after Leah until she was ready to get up. And for just those 48 hours, Mel didn’t have to think about anything.

Until today at least, marked in pencil on her calendar with a crudely drawn circle.

Mel tried to ignore it as she reset her alarm clock, shortly greeted by Leah with a soft gurgle from her cot.

“Buh!” Leah declared, as if to complain about the humidity which was upsetting to her but not so much as to set her crying just yet.

“Did the alarm wake you?” Mel cooed softly, reaching into the cot to collect the infant. “I’m sorry, I forgot to turn it off.” She apologised, pressing a kiss to Leah’s soft tuft of hair as she balanced her against her hip, gently holding her wrist against the girl’s head to check her temperature.

Leah didn’t seem distressed, happily snuggling into her mother and curling her little hands into Mel’s tank top. She was content, and Mel’s careful efforts to make sure that she never got too hot seemed to pay off.

Cool baths before bed time, light bed clothes, one thin blanket if that.

But Mel seemed to struggle more, despite the windows being left open in an effort to find respite from the scorching summer heat. The blankets had still been thrown off, and now Mel bent down to pick them up with her free hand, tossing them back on the bed before she’d move to the wardrobe to start pulling her clothes out for the day.

This was Leah’s favourite part of their morning routine, and she enthusiastically tried to communicate to her mother how red was a fantastic colour to combine with green as if trying to make a fashion statement at daycare.

Mel wasn’t much in the mood to play dress up today though, as much as she would have loved to indulge Leah just for the sake of watching her daughter giggle and look up at her with her father’s adoring eyes.

Into a soft denim romper Leah went, her face and then her chubby arms and legs carefully moistened with sunscreen before Mel would tie the little sun hat with its strawberry printed bow into place. It matched the strawberry printed pink socks that went on last, mostly to keep her feet from any hair or dust that might hurt her vulnerable toes as it was too early to worry about shoes when Leah wasn’t walking yet.

“You look ready to me. What do you think?” Mel asked, stepping back to survey her handy work.

“Buh!” Leah declared again, as if she understood her cue in the one-sided conversation, pulling at the faux shoulder tie of her romper.

Mel deemed this an acceptable response. “You play with Mr Snuggles while I get ready, okay?” She’d retrieve the faded blue bear shaped teddy from the cot, placing it on Leah’s lap to keep her entertained while Mel changed out of her bed shorts and tank top.

‘Mr Snuggles’ was a bold name for the handmade cryptid that the knitted thing was. One of the very first knit items that Mel had made without Janet’s guiding hand to help her, Mr Snuggles had a small head and a large body with fortunately equal sized arms either side of the torso. But Mel had been unable to finish him in time for Leah’s birth, and though she’d constantly tried to remember to give him legs so that he more closely resembled a bear, Leah had fallen in love with him immediately.

Since then, Mel had sworn she would make her daughter a proper teddy bear as her knitting skills improved, but Leah was stubborn about giving up Mr Snuggles and every other actual bear-looking teddy that Mel made for her was left woefully neglected.

As far as toys went, Leah was never left wanting, and Mel had to beg the other occupants of the house to stop bringing more after she’d had to install an entire chest of drawers into the room just to organise the excessive supply.

Otto gave Mel the toys he deemed himself too grown up for, and Clayton picked something up every time she went out on a supply run. Robin had even gifted her some beautiful clothes which Leah was able to wear for the first two months of her life until she grew out of them, and then Mel had donated those to the daycare in turn for anyone else who might need them.

Most surprising to her though was that, recently, Tommy Miller had shown up with a gorgeous hand carved box. It was full of handmade toys which he admitted were made by Joel as first drafts of things he would be making for Dina’s baby. Mel was understandably reluctant to accept them, but Tommy insisted that this was a peace offering to indicate that his brother had accepted her as part of the Jackson community.

Mel cried, embarrassingly, and then decided that these were the toys she wouldn’t be donating even if Leah outgrew them.

With her tank top replaced with a t-shirt, and a comfortable pair of combats shimmed up her hips, Mel took a moment to just prod at the silvery stretch marks visible along the underside of her abdomen. “Oh, man.” She huffed to herself, squishing the still mildly loose skin. It had started returning to normal, but it was still going to be a while before she got used to the changes and it didn’t help that she’d lost a lot of weight so rapidly after giving birth.

Not that Mel had ever been particularly conscious of her appearance, she hadn’t even had the time to worry about it before and Owen had always so charmingly assured her that she didn’t need to go out of her way because she was ‘beautiful’ as she was.

Mel dabbed on a bit of cream to prevent chaffing, cursing under her breath at how stupid the whole thing was because somehow it all felt fake.

If Mel was so beautiful and so wonderful and everything else Owen had constantly assured her she was, why was Abby always in the background? Like a ghost haunting their relationship and turning Owen into some Heathcliff, unable to move past Abby or what Abby wanted or what bothered Abby or—

“Fuck!” Mel groaned, pulling up her fly and popping the button shut before smoothing down her shirt and taking a big breath in.

There was no point still tormenting herself with these thoughts.

A soft knock came on the door, signalling that it was time to escape the echoes of her own depressing thoughts inside this room and to face reality. It was time to move forward, it was time to just let the past be the past.

Mel moved to collect Leah from the bed, cradling her gently against her chest and securing an arm under the infant’s rump as she headed toward the door.

“Oh.” Joanna Clayton seemed surprised to see her already up and ready, clasping her hands together to resist the urge to fidget. “Tommy’s downstairs asking about you.” She filled in, offering a light smile as she tried to gauge Mel’s mood.

It felt like they’d spent the last two months circling around each other like two moons following the same orbit and never quite crossing paths or moving any closer.

“Okay.” Mel exhaled the answer, doing her best to meet the woman’s eye despite the awkwardness. She wanted to ask how the woman was, if things were going well for her, but she didn’t know how to or if she even had the headspace to be interested in someone else’s wellbeing, so she didn’t. “I’m heading down now.” She said instead, watching the woman retreat a step.

“Okay, good.” Joanna wiped her sweaty palms on the back of her pants, motioning awkwardly over her shoulder to indicate she would be going now. “I’ll just… need a shower, you know.” She moved aside to let Mel pass.

“Yeah. It’s hot out, huh?” Mel tried for small talk, managing a flat smile as she pulled her bedroom door shut behind her and then shuffled her feet in the direction she was supposed to be heading.

She hesitated, and Joanna lingered too.

“You…” The woman clearly had something to say, so usually confident and unafraid to speak her mind, and yet now she seemed to walk on eggshells around Mel. She pointed toward Leah after a second. “You, uh, need me to take her? You know… ‘cuz of…” She offered.

“Oh.” Mel instinctively shifted Leah who clung to her neck, pulling at her bra strap rather firmly and making it clear she had no intention to go anywhere with anyone else. “Nah, I think I’ll take her with me. You deserve a break.” She tried to untangle Leah’s fist from her poor choice of security, but as Mel had already learned, babies had an ungodly amount of strength and the stubbornness to back it up whenever they latched on to something. “Thanks though.” She added quickly, hoping that it didn’t come across as distrust toward leaving Leah with her.

“Sure, anything you need.” Joanna didn’t seem to take it that way though, quick to dismiss any sort of implied apology Mel gave and nodded to her in farewell before disappearing into her own room a little further down the hall.

Mel watched her go, listening to the soft click of the door shutting before finally allowing herself to breathe.

Well, she was sure she’d fucked that up— good going, Melon.

Leah cooed softly, snuggling into her as if to assure Mel that she’d done her best, and Mel kissed her head in appreciation for her comforting weight against her.

Mel continued on down the stairs, picking up the muffled sound of cutlery and dishes clinking in the kitchen which at least told her that Janet wasn’t out of reach if she needed her. When she reached the ground floor, she found Tommy with Otis in the private lounge, the frosted glass doors that normally divided the area from the diner left open to allow some fresh air in from the garden behind the pub.

“It’s just about everything the librarian could find in our archives,” Tommy was saying as he arranged a number of floor plans on the coffee table delicately, mindful of their age. “It’s not much, but I reckon we can use this to get some idea of where to focus our teams.”

Otis was sitting opposite him, Sawyer half draped across his lap and whining softly for attention. “How old are these?” He questioned, chewing on a short stalk of prairie grass. Farmer’s Gum they called it, likely an attempt to ward off tobacco cravings.

“‘95. But I reckon the inside hasn’t changed much, most hospitals were so busy they didn’t have the time to be renovating.” Tommy explained. “At least not on the inside.”

Otis was grateful to have his knowledge on hand. “Not bad.” Before, whenever the Marauders targeted hospitals for supplies, it was a death run for the scouts just to get a rough idea of what was where. “Military’s probably locked some places up, won’t be easy gettin’ in, but this should save us time.” He took one of the clearer prints, holding it up to squint at the details.

Mel felt like she was intruding on an important meeting, but she approached slowly to give them time to wrap up, collecting Leah’s baby sling from the coat rack under the stairs so she could carry her more easily.

“Morning,” Tommy greeted when he spotted her. “Sleep good?” He smiled, shuffling over some on the sofa to make space for her in case she wanted to sit down.

“Uh, yeah, I slept okay.” Mel hadn’t really, but it wasn’t an invitation to complain. “How are you?” She’d move over to join him, unable to help the way she perched on the edge of the sofa as if ready to escape at any moment. She was anxious and her palms were already sweating even though there was nothing wrong in particular.

“Good.” Tommy replied cheerfully, packing up the papers that Otis wasn’t using to make more space on the table.

Mel didn’t know if she should ask, but she did anyway because she had a feeling she might be involved in this somehow. “Still planning for that hospital run?” She tried to exhale softly to work out her nerves, glancing from Tommy to Otis.

The man hadn’t yet acknowledged her, which she wasn’t sure if she should be grateful for or not.

Someone had cut his hair, the shortest she’d ever seen it which only showed off the nasty burn scar across the right side of his face more. It had been cut short at the back and sides, but left longer up top which revealed more greying than just the silver streak through the right parting. The work was rough, not refined like Janet’s practiced hand usually was, and it made his hair look more wavy than curly even if some stubborn locks fell over his eyes.

“Anythin’ I can help you with, Doctor?” Otis had noticed her staring, even if his eyes remained on the blueprint.

Mel flushed. “Are you coming to see Owen off?” In hindsight, it was a stupid question.

Pale eyes rose to her at last, seeming to study her for a brief moment before looking away again. “Do you want me to?” That was probably sarcasm.

“Play nice, Meyer.” Tommy shook his head, laughing off the awkwardness that Mel seemed to bring.

Mel had never been much of a social creature, and she was pretty sure that if Abby and Manny hadn’t practically adopted her into their friendship group when they were all much younger, she likely wouldn’t have gained any sort of confidence. Without either of them at her side though, Jackson would never be her home the way that Salt Lake or Seattle was.

Janet spared her anymore agonising attempts when she arrived, carrying a large tray of breakfast plates.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Otis stood to take it from her.

“I can handle it fine, you can barely use the one arm you do have.” Janet huffed, refusing to accept that she probably should have asked for help to avoid irritating her already slipped disc. “Where’s Maria?” She asked.

Sawyer who’d been disturbed by Otis’ sudden movement shuffled around, sniffing politely around the table without daring to grab a nibble despite the tempting sausages calling his name.

“She’s meeting us at the gate, she wanted to lie in today.” Tommy rewarded him for his good manners with one from his plate, smiling as he watched the dog savour the meat with small bites to avoid gobbling it all in one go.

“Maybe you should’ve stayed with her, I could’ve handled Moore just fine.” Otis implied, playing off Mel’s question from earlier as he shifted over to let Janet sit next to him.

Janet plucked the grass from his mouth, pushing a fork into his hand to tell him to eat.

“Your handling is exactly why Maria doesn’t want you there.” Tommy pointed out, amused that Otis would even try to get a kick in at Owen as if Maria didn’t already know he would the minute she left them together unsupervised.

“Ain’t me she has to worry ‘bout.” Otis denied, leaving the topic because Mel didn’t need to think he was out to get Owen. He might have been, if he found out that Owen had any involvement in delivering Otto to John Ackerman, but it was lucky for Owen that Otto had remained mute about the ordeal and he was far from the scene of the crime when discovered.

Mel picked at her plate anxiously, hoping they would discuss anything else just so she could swallow her breakfast without feeling like it was forced down her throat.

“You okay, Mel?” Janet noticed though. “I made sure the pan wasn’t greasy, you should eat the beans they’ll help you get some colour back in you.” She encouraged.

“Yeah, thanks… this is nice.” Mel offered what she hoped was a convincing smile. “Having everyone around I mean.” It was only a half lie, because having Janet and Otis around her so comfortably at least assured her that she wouldn’t find herself out on her ass the minute that exiling Owen got the green light from Maria.

And there were other sins she’d committed that she was sure would be more than enough reason for them to want her gone.

More than that, Mel still didn’t know why Otis had taken her side with saving Abby’s life, or why he’d let the woman stay here either, albeit under the condition that he never had to see her.

Mel herself hadn’t really gone to see her too often either, only occasionally to check on her recovery following the horrible starvation and abuse she’d suffered at the hands of the Illuminated. But Mel couldn’t divorce her conscience from what Abby had done.

Joel Miller deserved to die. That had been Mel’s opinion when they’d crossed him at the lodge, but torturing him wasn’t Mel’s idea of making him pay.

No matter how many times she turned it over, no matter how much her empathy tried to justify that grief had turned Abby into a monster for just that one incident, Mel had been and still was mortified to learn that her friend had this kind of side to her. That Abby was capable of doing something like this, and then the subsequent proof that it would only get worse when she’d decided to burn the Marauders in their sleep.

Joel Miller was just another side to the same coin. What he’d done at St Mary’s Hospital…

And then this monster sitting opposite her. He was the very lesson of violence begetting violence.

Mel didn’t know why but she had this constant feeling in her gut that Abby and Owen’s fear of Otis Meyer was not just over his uncanny resourcefulness in finding people and subsequently the creative manner with which he hurt them.

But it was a naive thing to think that genuinely terrible people were the kind who were isolated by their horrid personality, sneering at everyone in the way that John Ackerman did.

People like Joel Miller and Otis Meyer had people who cared for them, people who respected them, and people who even loved them the way that Ellie or Janet did.

Mel had been naive once, the world had been black and white to her when she’d been a young Firefly, learning the very profession that would allow her to save her friends and others years into the future. An oath to do no harm. But at some point it had all faded away, and now she was sat at a table with people who were capable of great violence and those who used their capability to protect others.

The lines had blurred a long, long time ago, and Mel might be forced to accept that she reluctantly did find some kind of liking towards Otis Meyer. It was the little things- the way that Janet spoke of him with a twinkle of mirth in her eyes, the way that Otto ran so excitedly to greet him any time he heard he was nearby, even the way he seemed to look out for her as if she was part of his family in some roundabout way.

Maybe they were friends. The man had killed a woman for her, and he’d risked serious problems with his own group just to protect her interest in keeping Abby safe. If friendship wasn’t the reason, contorted as it was by the circumstances that brought them together, Mel couldn’t think of any other explanation. The WLF supplies seemed more like an atonement to the Marauders than any self-serving ambition on his part, because Otis had shown no real interest in taking leadership of the reformed group.

Or maybe Mel wanted to be less afraid of him.

Breakfast conversations were mostly tuned out, though it gave Mel time to find her appetite and by the time her plate was clean, everyone else seemed ready to go too.

It wasn’t like she’d be gone for long, it was just a goodbye to Owen because she felt like she owed him that at least- and for her daughter, who Mel didn’t want to be as unloved as she had been by him.

Maybe, as Janet had told her, this was a good thing for Owen to get his priorities straight. He’d taken having Mel as his labelled ‘girlfriend’ for granted, failing to see how Leah should have been his main concern and that some petty game of vengeance was not good karma for the new life they conceived together.

Had Maria been a different kind of woman, or if Otis had no red lines that even he wouldn’t cross, Mel was sure that neither her nor her daughter would have seen summer this year.

But now the sunlight warmed her face and brought colour to her pale cheeks as she stepped out, thanking Tommy softly for holding the door open for her.

They walked in relative silence, Mel allowing herself to get lost in the lush green and vast blue skies that summer days brought, Jackson’s wooden buildings spiriting her away to dreams of cozy holiday destinations that she never got to enjoy.

There were elderly couples having early morning walks, engaged in light hearted conversation as they meandered without any particular hurry to go anywhere. A few smiled and greeted her and Tommy as they passed, a kind reminder that she could be forgiven for what she didn’t do.

Mel inhaled deeply the smell of freshly cut grass and found herself calm for the first time in a long time.

“Morning, Mr Miller.” Mike was waiting for them by the nursery, just before the stables and the eastern gate.

“Hey, Mike, how are you?” Tommy took his hand to shake it in greeting and Mike patted his shoulder.

“Good, yeah, good.” The old man nodded, squinting slightly against the glare of the sun from under his cap. “Maria’s already there, seems to be in a good mood.” He observed, looking out to where the woman seemed engaged in deep conversation with Lewis, the retired cop who managed the prison.

Owen was there too, head hung as he waited patiently in the shadow of the wall’s awnings, quiet and still.

The feeling of her fist beating into the hard bone of his ribcage was still fresh in Mel’s mind from the last time she’d seen him, and it made her knuckles feel raw and her palms burn. She’d thought that beating some of her anger out would make him feel some of the hurt he’d put her through, but ultimately she found little catharsis in it. Because violence wasn’t her, and she couldn’t that easily forget that their relationship had been full of fond memories before it took a turn for the worse.

“You can still change your mind.” Tommy told her quietly as he unlocked the fence gate leading toward the wall, turning to Mel with a light knotting of his brows in concern.

Mel couldn’t ever not envy Maria for this man, as much as she recognised that jealousy was an ugly thing to carry around. She put on a brave smile. “I’ll be fine, thanks.” She needed to do this, and for that reason, she pushed on through, ignoring the jitters that made her knees weak with every step.

Her hand settled on the back of her daughter who was strapped securely to her chest now, kissing her soft head as if to quietly assure her that everything would work out again.

Owen lifted his head finally when she was near enough, his gaunt face devoid of his usual eagerness to see her but he’d been this way since John Ackerman had put him in hospital with a severe concussion.

“Hey.” Maria’s voice was all background to Mel, and the hand that touched her back was little more than the ghost of assurance.

“Is it okay if I talk to him?” Mel requested softly, trying to smile so that Maria would trust that she was alright.

“Uh… yeah.” Maria didn’t seem so sure, but Tommy took her arm gently to guide her away, giving Mel some space to organise her thoughts before her feet pulled her to Owen.

“Hi.” Her greeting was quieter, softer than she’d hoped, but maybe gentleness was the better way to handle this.

Owen swallowed hard, mouthing a greeting in return.

“How’s your head?” She asked, trying to contain the dam of emotions that threatened her with nausea. She couldn’t be sick, but she damn well felt like she would be.

Owen lightly touched his capped head as if just remembering he had one, his reactions slowed by the lingering effect of head trauma. “Headaches… come and go.” He confessed, rubbing a bloodshot eye and sniffing lightly with an inhale. “You? How are you? And Leah?” He indicated the girl, hand lingering in the air with evident reluctance to ask if he could hold her.

Mel’s resolve crumbled seeing him like this, and she found herself fidgeting with the straps of the sling before she could talk herself out of it. “You want to hold her?”

She didn’t notice Maria and Tommy nervously watching over her, ready to jump in at the slightest misstep from Owen. It hadn’t been that long ago that a child was snatched from Jackson.

“Yeah. Please.” Owen moved closer with his arms held out to collect the infant, drawing her inward as soon as she was securely in his grip and readjusting her head to support it against his upper arm with Mel’s help.

There was a tenseness to the motion at first, like Leah might somehow fall apart in his embrace if he wasn’t delicate enough with her, but of course no such thing happened.

Light brown eyes peered up at him from under the brim of her little sun hat, Mr Snuggles being the poor victim of her mouth as she suckled on his ear briefly.

Owen finally exhaled, his face lighting up for the first time since they got to Jackson, a handsome smile gracing his exhausted features. “Hello, Leah.” He whispered softly.

Leah beamed up at him, waving her bear as if to return the greeting and giggling as his beard tickled her face when he kissed her cheeks.

“Hello.” Owen repeated, instinctively looking to Mel as if to share his relief at his daughter’s positive reaction to him. It wasn’t his first time holding her, he’d had his first chance when he’d snuck into the diner the day of John’s escape, but the first or second time would never matter. Each time he held her would be special.

Mel couldn’t help the tears that sprang up when she saw Leah’s enthusiasm, a genuine smile coming to her face without her notice. “Look, baby, there’s daddy.” She cooed softly, moving closer to gently pull back Leah’s hat so she could see her face easier.

Owen felt his heart squeeze painfully in his chest, his eyes lingering on Mel for just a moment too long to not betray his remaining affection for her.

Mel was blissfully oblivious, and in that moment she had everything she wanted for her daughter. Leah was loved, she was treasured by both of them, and she was safe, well fed and cared for. “I don’t know why I’m crying.” The tears fell hot on her cheeks as she sniffled, attempting to wipe them away because she was tired of crying so much.

“Mel, I’m sorry-“ Owen apologised urgently.

“Don’t.” She cut him off, shaking her head and blinking away the rest of the tears that threatened to overwhelm her.

“I am.” He insisted. “I didn’t kill that girl, it was an accident, I swear-“ He tried to explain, hoping that Mel would at least believe him on this matter.

He’d pushed Naomi while he was having a panic attack, not violently, not with any intention to hurt her- his reaction had been an instinct to get room to breathe- but Naomi had fallen, and she’d hit her head violently at the bottom of the stairs. She was dead before he even realised what he’d done.

Mel refused to look at him though, hugging herself as she swallowed the lump in her throat. “Okay.” She would accept his claim only because she wanted to believe that he’d not fallen so low as to kill an innocent young woman for no reason.

Owen Moore had been the better man in nearly every situation the Salt Lake Crew had faced. He’d been the moral conscience, he’d shown mercy when it was logically better to make the hard decision- not just when he’d risked getting into a physical fight with Manny and Jordan over leaving Ellie and Tommy alive when they’d hurt Joel Miller, but every time they crossed a Scar kid or elderly person.

Mel had fallen in love with that man, the one who stood up for his principles, who fought for his friends even if it was against them to stop them from doing something they’d regret. She’d fallen in love with how much he cared about them all… and then became jealous of it when it turned out too much in Abby’s case.

It was her fault for pursuing him when she knew he still had feelings for Abby. She’d seen it time and time again, even before he’d agreed to chase down the Marauders with Abby over going back to Seattle with her. He was always far too considerate of the other woman, even when he’d surprised Mel with the Christmas party at the Aquarium, he’d let Abby ruin their day with her entitlement to the place.

Mel knew and she’d said nothing. She’d been a bystander in her own relationship, and that was why Owen had felt justified in chasing Abby because he’d ‘do the same for any of our friends’.

“I am sorry, Mel.” Even now he was pushing his luck. “I’m not expecting you to forgive me, and I’m not asking you to take me back, I’m just asking that I can be Leah’s dad.” He requested, and the phrasing was what made her cave every time. He was always sorry, he always knew what to say— and Mel believed that he was, because she didn’t think he was purposely being manipulative or lying to garner her sympathy. “I wish I was better, Mel. I really do, and I know you deserve better, but…” He seemed to catch himself.

Mel reached out to take her daughter from him wearily. “But what? There’s nothing more I can do to keep you here, Owen.” She replied, exhausted already and grateful that her tears had stopped on their own for just a few seconds. “I tried everything. I really did, and Maria was kind enough to give you chance after chance-“

“I know.” Owen shushed her gently, taking her delicately into his arms without invitation.

Mel let him, as she had the first time when she’d been a nervous wreck the night before her first surgery. And he’d stayed up all night with her, revising procedural questions off the flashcards she’d made hundreds of just to make sure she was ready.

He’d always been there for her too, until recently, and her heart felt irreparably broken. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore.” She sobbed into his chest, cradling her daughter as close as she could manage.

Owen’s eyes blurred as he rubbed her back gently. “I’m sorry… I did this to us.” He couldn’t allow himself relief when he felt her hand on the small of his back, hugging him too. And he kissed her hair and her head, over and over as if it would somehow redeem him of his sins.

Mel’s faux ice melted in a moment and she raised her head to look up at him, her eyes imploring him to help her find a solution that wouldn’t hurt even more. “What if I talk to Maria?” She proposed in a moment of desperation, glancing over to the woman briefly before Owen drew her back with a caring hand on her cheek.

“It’s too late.” Owen couldn’t take her for granted to beg on his behalf. “She already gave me more chances than Isaac ever would.”

“Okay,” Mel looked down at her daughter’s face, seeing the mounting distress which only put more pressure on her to rack her brain for options. “What about Otis? He’ll listen, he’s more practical, I’ll tell him you know Seattle inside out-“

“Jesus, Mel. No.” Owen’s expression changed in that moment and he seemed to recoil from her as if just remembering something.

Mel froze as if his harsh tone slapped her back to reality.

Owen’s eyes on her weren’t reverent any more, there were thoughts and doubts swimming in his head. “Mel…” He’d seen her with Otis Meyer before. She’d seemed so comfortable, far too cozy when he’d fussed over her.

Anger rose up in him like molten lava that he was trying not to spill over onto her.

Mel watched him pace, feeling small under the uncomfortable way he looked at her.

“God,” Owen finally stopped, gripping his head. “Is that what you meant? When you said you tried everything?”

Confusion replaced her nervousness and a frown took over. “What?” Mel had a feeling she knew what he was insinuating, but the mere implication that she would go that far for Owen was so outlandish and frankly insulting that she found anger of her own.

Owen couldn’t even come out and say it directly, but he was caught off guard by this side of Mel he’d not really seen before. “I’m just… I don’t want you to put out for my sake-“ He tried to explain that it was out of concern for her, that he didn’t know what kind of man Otis Meyer was but that he wouldn’t put it past him to stoop so low so as to take advantage of Mel.

“I can’t believe you!” Mel found herself shouting, unable to contain the rage. “You think I fucked Otis Meyer to keep your stupid ass from being thrown out?!”

Maria and Tommy’s expressions were that of pure shock, heads turning sharply at the bizarre exclamation.

“Oh my God.” Maria could already feel a headache coming on, massaging her temple.

Tommy moved over to intervene, certain they didn’t need to draw unnecessary attention- Maria had already arranged to see Owen off this early in the morning on a weekend when there would be minimal eyes on them as is.

“Mel.” Tommy tried to defuse the situation by pulling her away, troubled now that Mel’s evident upset had reached Leah and set the child off crying.

“Fuck you, Owen!” Mel had to get that one last thing off her chest, glaring at the man over her shoulder as she allowed Tommy to pull her away.

“You seemed to be getting along, what the hell happened?” Tommy hadn’t ever seen Mel so angry, looking to his wife for help.

“Lewis, give him a pack and send him out now please.” Maria instructed, moving to Mel’s other side to offer the younger woman some comfort.

“He’s such a dick, I shouldn’t have ever wasted my time.” Mel continued to rant, her face burning with humiliation.

“Okay, but at least now you can say you did your part.” Maria reasoned. “And I already told him that if it’s okay with you, he can come by every month or so to see Leah under your supervision.”

“Maria.” This was the first Tommy had heard of this, and evidently didn’t approve.

“I had to, Tommy. I thought about it a lot, and this is the best way we can avoid problems in the future.” Maria wouldn’t hear anything about it though, the decision partially for her own peace of mind but also because Owen would now have no cause to stir trouble in the area when he knew that seeing his daughter hinged on good behaviour.

Tommy could appreciate the logic behind it, but there was a glaring issue that he was reluctant to point out. “Meyer’s going to kick his ass if he catches him outside.” It had to be said though.

“He’d deserve it.” Mel cut in vehemently, her response surprising them both.

“I’d like to think Meyer’s moved past the need for petty revenge.” Maria wasn’t entirely convinced by her own words, but she would talk to Otis separately before Owen returned. “It’s not his business anyway.”

Tommy gave his wife a nervous smile, hoping she was right.

“Why does everyone think I’m fucking their girlfriend?”

That was Otis’ reaction to Tommy telling him what happened between Mel and Owen.

Tommy could laugh about it now, with a cold glass of lemonade in his hand as he watched Otto play fetch with Sawyer in the backyard. “I don’t know, but it’s a wild thing to yell about.”

Otis hummed, disinterested in the topic altogether, and turned a page in the book he was reading.

‘Speech Psychology’ the title declared, an odd reading material for someone who was usually more invested in classic literature.

Tommy wondered if he should ask but Otis seemed so unusually closed off these days. “At least I know Maria wouldn’t look at you even if you were the last man on Earth.”

This got the man to roll his eyes.

“I’m sure not everyone thinks that.” Tommy continued.

“This whole problem with the kid’s Ma came from Berko’s dumb ass thinkin’ I was fucking her.” Otis pointed out. “Joel thought I was doing Tess too.”

“Okay… I see your point.” Tommy laughed again, then paused. “Was Tess his girlfriend?”

Otis sighed. “Tess was his not-girlfriend, just like I’m his not-boyfriend and we’re not-dating.” He deadpanned, closing the book since he couldn’t concentrate nor understand what half of the words even meant anyway. It was a bit too advanced for him and didn’t seem to have any particular answers he was looking for anyway.

“Does it bother you?” Tommy had to ask him because he’d already asked Joel and Joel didn’t seem to know whether he wanted to be open about their relationship or not. He knew his brother enough to guess that he’d probably never tried to ask Otis directly- or at least that’s what he thought.

Otis looked at him before shifting forward in the rocking chair to grab the beer bottle he’d nearly forgotten about from the cooler between them. “As a man, I’d think you’d know the only time I care about Joel getting on his knees for me-“

“Okay!” Tommy cut him off. “Woah there, cowboy, let’s not. I don’t need that mental image today, or ever.” Between Joel who was evasive whenever Tommy asked, and Otis who had a way of making Tommy wish he never asked, he wasn’t sure which was worse. “You two deserve each other.”

“Thanks.” Otis replied sarcastically, though he appreciated Tommy’s concern. “Joel and I aren’t like you, boy wonder. Mighty hard thing to teach an old dog new tricks, this ain’t ever gonna feel normal.” In some ways, they belonged to a different generation. One where sexuality was a taboo topic, where talking about feelings was virtually a no-go for men. It wasn’t necessarily that either of them thought it emasculating, but they were both very private men by nature.

“As long as you two are happy, I guess…” Tommy relented.

Otis didn’t know about Joel, but he was content. Now that Tommy had brought it up though… was Joel happy? He hardly saw him these last two months.

Joel was busy out at the farmhouse, fixing up the place with Ellie’s help in preparation for when her and Dina were ready to officially move out. Most days he spent out there were so taxing that he ended up sleeping there instead of coming back to Jackson, and if he did, he was so tired that he spent the best part of the day sleeping.

Otis missed him, but Joel had rejected any offer of help he made, because Ellie didn’t want him there. Joel hadn’t outright said it, but Otis wasn’t stupid.

“Otis.” Tommy tried to get his attention when he seemed to zone out. “Hey.” He indicated Otto who was running over with clear upset on his face.

“Otis.” The boy whined softly, hands reaching out to grab at the man.

Otis nearly jumped when he felt the small hands grab onto him, suddenly drawn back to the moment. “What? What’s wrong?” He questioned, setting his bottle aside to check on the boy.

Otto pointed over his shoulder, pouting as he motioned toward Ophelia who was hanging back in the distance. “She’s being mean.” He complained.

Otis was confused, looking over to where the girl was watching them with an angry expression. Despite Janet’s best efforts to wash and clothe her, Ophelia had already managed to get dirt on her new summer dress at the knees from where she’d been kneeling in the soil and pulling out daisies.

“What happened?” Tommy asked Otto.

“I was playing fetch with Sawyer and Sawyer thought she wanted to play too, so he took the stick to her and she threw it over the fence.” The boy explained with all the child-like passion of a person who thought they’d been done some great injustice.

Tommy tried not to laugh. “Girls can be hard to understand. Maybe she was trying to play but doesn’t know how?” He tried to smooth it over.

Otto didn’t accept this explanation though, his brows furrowing as he shook his head. “She broke all my crayons too. Janet says I have to be nice to her, but she’s really mean. I don’t like her.” He insisted.

“We’ll get you new ones-“ Tommy consoled, pausing when Otis stood up. “Otis, calm down.” He had this momentary fear that the man would deck the poor girl from the sheer angry energy he always carried, but Otis wasn’t angry at Ophelia.

“I’m calm, Tommy. Take the boy inside.” Otis told him, grabbing his camo jacket from his chair as he headed down the steps of the porch.

Otto’s expression softened to sadness, evidently not pleased that Otis wasn’t coddling him the way Janet usually did.

“Ophelia-“ Otis had almost reached the girl, but she seemed to think she was in trouble and immediately turned to bolt. “Fucking A.” Otis grumbled, following her further into the woodlands and disappearing between the trees.

Tommy sensed Otto’s dejection, offering him a hand which the boy took gingerly. “She’s a little different to you.” He tried to explain.

“Everyone says that, but it’s not fair.” Otto mumbled, hanging his head as he walked with Tommy. “She’s always yelling and breaking things when she’s not happy. She’s scary and mean.” He didn’t want her here, things were suddenly not so good with her around.

“Yeah, but she doesn’t know any better.” Tommy didn’t exactly know how to make a child understand that these things were rarely fair and that concessions were always made by the people who were suffering as opposed to the cause of the problem.

‘Be the bigger person’ was always said to the victim, never the perpetrator.

“Ophelia’s mom and dad were really horrible people. They didn’t play with her or give her nice clothes or good food like Janet and Otis do.” Tommy knew that asking Otto to be compassionate was unfair when he was a child who’d suffered too.

Otto’s anger seemed to soften though and he seemed a little ashamed of himself for speaking up. “Janet said they used to hit her. She has marks on the back of her knees, I saw them.” He shared, looking up at Tommy briefly before pouting. “But why does she have to stay with us?” Naturally, any child didn’t want to share the time and affection of their parents, which was why so many older siblings struggled when a new baby was in the house. But Otto had no issue with Leah, he had issue with Ophelia because she was a troublemaker and therefore meant that time and attention wasn’t shared fairly as far as he was concerned.

Tommy couldn’t answer him in truth. It wasn’t his place to tell him that. “Well… I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Otis.”

“I think Otis is sad.” This was Otto’s next issue.

“Yeah? What makes you think that?” So, it wasn’t just Tommy who’d noticed that the man was somewhat withdrawn since he’d come back.

They reached the bar in the dining area of the pub and Tommy hoisted Otto up onto one of the stools at the counter. “Want a soda?”

“No thanks.” Otto declined politely, leaning his arms on the wooden surface. “He doesn’t talk much and he doesn’t smile at all,” He continued their conversation after thinking about it. “It’s like when we were on the road. I thought he was happy here, that’s what Janet said.” Children were often more sensitive to even the subtlest changes and Otto was quite mature for his age in certain matters, having spent most of his life around adults.

Tommy was stuck on what to say, wondering how he’d handle being a father in some months if his kid ever asked him such difficult questions. “I think…” He began slowly, retrieving a glass and helping himself to one of the scotch bottles behind the bar. “That Otis spends a lot of time taking care of everyone else, and that makes him very tired.”

Otto frowned lightly, puzzling over this new perspective. “Is it because of me and Ophelia?” That was his first assumption.

“No,” Tommy couldn’t help but smile at how thoughtful the boy was. “Otis loves you, and I’m sure he loves Ophelia too.” He wasn’t actually that sure about that second part. Otis had every reason to feel like his sister was a burden he never asked for. “But you know many years ago, they had special days just to celebrate parents.” He tried to distract Otto with something a little more suited to his childish interests. “There was Mother’s Day and there was Father’s Day.”

“Really?” Otto seemed interested in this. “What did people do?”

Tommy smiled.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: Old Girls Gossip Too

“Ellie?” Dina called as she stepped out onto the porch, a plate of square cut sandwiches in one hand.

The dying sun painted the field of reeds surrounding the farmhouse in golden hues, a gentle breeze stirring now that the sun seemed to lay her scorching presence away to rest.

Dina inhaled deeply, a smile gracing her lips as she took it all in. It was so… peaceful out here. No Infected, no people, no crumbling infrastructure to disturb the lazy hills of prairie grass, swaying to the soundless song of the wind.

“Up here!” Ellie called from above, sliding part of the way over the new roof tiles to reach the ladder leaning against the porch.

Dina’s smile crinkled her eyes when the woman came into view.

“Oh, fuck yes! Sandwiches!” Ellie immediately stole one of the sandwiches, shovelling the whole thing into her mouth before bringing her arms around her girlfriend to then plant a mayo flavoured kiss on her lips and bumping her forehead-first with her cap in the process.

“Ew- finish eating first.” Dina scolded, squirming out of her embrace and wiping her mouth on the back of her hand as she laughed. “And wash your hands.”

“Sorry, I’m fucking starving.” Ellie hadn’t even realised how hungry she was until now, talking around her mouthful as she attempted to wipe her hands on the thighs of her jeans.

Dina shook her head at her girlfriend’s antics, offering her the full plate. “Is Joel still on the roof?”

“Yeah, he’s just finishing the last bit.” Ellie replied, tossing her cap to one side so she could air her sweaty scalp. “I didn’t think it would be so fucking hard just putting some damn tiles on.” She admitted.

“You’re doing good work. Soon, it’s just going to be picking out furniture and colours for the rooms.” Dina assured, squeezing Ellie’s arm gently in expression of gratitude. She wished she could help out more than occasionally bringing out sandwiches or drinks, but on account of the fact she waddled more than walked and couldn’t stand even moving one inch in the sweltering weather, she had accepted that refreshments were her part to provide. And she knew she didn’t need to be out here, but this was their soon-to-be home and she wanted to watch it come together alongside Ellie.

Still, the light was fading, and she had to often remind Joel to take it easy.

Even now, she brought a hand under her stomach to support it, the other gripping the railing of the porch as she carefully moved down the steps to look up at the roof. “Joel! You should come down now!”

Dina saw him half inside the chimney which was a funny sight in itself if it didn’t concern her. “Please be careful.” She groaned, not sure who was worse when he emerged, covered in dust.

“What time is it?” He asked as he dusted himself off, glad to have finished the brick laying work at least. Even if he was all brick dust and sweat from the labour.

“Well, sun’s going down so I’d say time to call it a day?” Ellie put in, looking back briefly at the breath taking view of the open country before squinting up at him.

“And my hip is killing me so that’s a double.” Joel grumbled under his breath as he rubbed his sore leg, briefly debating if he had the energy to pack his tools or to just leave them here.

It was too dry right now for there to be a chance of rain, so he’d settle for the lazy option and start making his way down.

Ellie stuffed the last bit of bread into her mouth before moving to secure the ladder for him, shifting aside only when he’d reached the bottom rung. “You look like you need to be hosed down.” She laughed when she realised just how sweaty he was.

Patches of moisture darkened the front of his flannel around the neck and back.

Joel wasn’t proud of himself either. “You’re one to talk.” He ruffled her mussed hair, dry as straw at the ends thanks to the heat.

“I should hose you both down before I let you in.” Dina laughed at them, shaking her head as she waddled her way back indoors.

“Can’t wait to shower, for once I can’t complain about there being no hot water.” Ellie sighed, tugging at the collar of her vest in an effort to loosen it from her skin.

The farm already had a borehole which supplied it with water, and between Tommy and Joel, patching any rusted or broken plumbing had only taken the first two weeks. Within the first month, the bathroom and kitchen were practically ready for use. Electricity would be harder to come by though, and Joel had made plans with one of Jackson’s engineers to see about installing solar panels to make the best use of the open land.

Joel lagged behind the two women, needing a short break on the porch for his hip.

“Do you want a drink?” Dina offered on her way to the kitchen.

“Just some water, thanks.” Joel felt bad about asking her for anything when she was this far along in her pregnancy, but Dina insisted she needed to be walking around and the time when there was a cool wind was the best for it.

Ellie paused in the doorway, watching Dina go before looking over to the man. “I really appreciate you helping me out here, Joel.” She expressed, more softly than usual. She could tell he was getting old, and it wasn’t just his leg.

Joel waved a hand at her dismissively, because she didn’t need to thank him as far as he was concerned.

Ellie wanted to insist, she wanted to express how much it meant to her- but words fell short of that and so she accepted the comfortable silence that followed, moving over to stand on the porch beside him and leaning on the rail to look outward.

“It sure is beautiful out here, huh?” Joel inhaled, finding relief in the cool breeze that tussled his hair and caressed his face. “Nothing quite like country air.”

“Damn right.” Ellie agreed, a lazy smile appearing on her freckled face as she relaxed her shoulders.

And for a long minute or two, it was just the two of them in the world, just like that moment in Boston, staring out across the ruins of the bombed downtown area, reclaimed by nature and made beautiful with her flowering children.

Standing out here though, Joel realised how far they’d come, travelling half way across the country.

“For the record… I don’t think I’d change any of it.” Ellie voiced, as though reading his mind, her green eyes turning to him.

Joel took a moment to meet her gaze, sighing as he dropped his head and moved to lean on the rail beside her. “Yeah… me neither, kiddo.” A fond smile warmed his tired features, broadening as Ellie gently covered his calloused hand with her own.

Ellie beamed, an expression he’d not seen nearly enough in the past year, and it squeezed at his heart.

Dina’s heavy footsteps broke them away from reminiscence, the two turning their head in sync to look at her. “Here,” She offered Joel a cup of water. “Come on in and get some rest.”

Ellie was all too happy to oblige, pushing off the rail with an energetic rock on her heels before turning to follow Dina in. “Did you eat something, babe?” She asked.

“I had some oatmeal earlier, not very hungry these days.” Dina replied.

“Oatmeal? In this weather? Let me make you something-“ Ellie turned to start for the kitchen but Dina pulled her back by the arm.

“It’s fine. Oatmeal’s about all I can handle right now.” She insisted. “You go have your shower so Joel can freshen up too. I’ll make him something to eat while he rests up a bit.”

This seemed like a good plan as far as Ellie was concerned because the sooner she showered, the sooner she could collapse in bed and snooze.

“Actually…” Joel piped up, clearing his throat as he lingered in the doorway furtively, glancing between the two of them. “I don’t think I can handle another night in the bag.” He admitted, referring to the sleeping bag that he used in the empty living space downstairs.

They’d installed only one temporary bed to make it comfortable for Dina to sleep, and Ellie naturally slept beside her. But Joel didn’t want to make a fuss since he technically wasn’t really staying here all the time.

A look of guilt did cross Ellie’s face though at her lack of foresight.

“We can take the bag if you want to-“ Dina began to offer immediately, but Joel shook his head and cut her off.

“No, that’s quite alright.” He obviously couldn’t accept that, and it wasn’t the point he was making anyway. “I’ll be heading back to Jackson for the night. Just…” He seemed to think about how much time was acceptable to delay before he hit the road, on account of resting his leg before taking a horse. “I’ll have a sandwich and then be out of your hair.”

Dina’s brows knotted lightly with concern. “Are you sure? It’s getting dark out now.”

Joel nodded. “We’ve crossed that road a dozen times, it’s clear all the way through. I know the road and so does Beardy.” He assured.

Ellie wasn’t happy with his decision, but she’d kept him out here long enough and he needed his rest. “We should take a break anyway.” She said. “Roof’s in, windows on, chimney’s up for cooking.” She listed.

“There’s still the fences and the barn.” Joel pointed out. “I’ll be back tomorrow to start on those, see if Tommy can’t lend me a hand.”

“That’s okay, Joel.” Dina jumped in. “Jesse’s coming out in two days with the pickup. We’ll be heading back to Jackson too,” She couldn’t ride a horse so the truck was her way here and back. “Let’s have a week off. I feel ready to explode.” She joked.

Joel didn’t seem so sure, guilt probably making him feel as though the farmhouse wouldn’t be ready in time— though what time that was, he wasn’t sure. Really, he would have loved to delay its completion till forever, so that Ellie could stay in Jackson where he didn’t have to stay up at night worrying about her. Where he could be sure she was among friends and eating well.

Out here… even though Jackson was only across the hills, it felt like a world away.

But this was what Ellie wanted, and Joel wanted nothing more than to see her happy. After all, if anyone knew how much difference a fresh start could make, it was him.

It was time he let Ellie make her own decisions, and this was hardly the worst one she could make.

“Okay.” Joel relented though, feeling a bit better about accepting the suggestion when he saw the relief on their faces.

Dina went on ahead to the kitchen, but Ellie followed the man as he got himself settled in the living room, making use of the old armchair that had been left behind in the house and was currently just covered in a dust sheet until they threw it out.

Owed to its age, it wasn’t the most comfortable thing to sit on and the worn seat felt hard against his buttock, but it was better than the floor for now.

Ellie picked at her nails as she lingered in the doorway, seeming to think about something for a moment before finally looking to him. “Do you miss him?” She asked, reluctant.

Joel lifted his gaze to her as he drank some water, taking a moment to process the question but he was turning up blanks. “Who?”

Ellie stared at him. “Sawyer.”

“The dog?” Joel questioned, confused.

“Of course I wasn’t talking about the fucking dog, Joel.” She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “I’m talking about Otis.” She muttered it like the devil would appear if she said his name too loud.

“How was I supposed to know that?” Joel complained, really only lost because Ellie never asked about the man and Joel never brought him up around her.

“Forget it.” Ellie was trying, but she wasn’t quite there yet. “I’m going to shower.”

She didn’t hate Otis Meyer, she liked him about as much as she liked Maria. He was tolerable at best, but he would never be good enough for Joel. If anything, Ellie only really disliked his coldness; how he was so detached from things, minimising any emotions involved. He was sharp enough that he seemed to understand her, but the fact he never got heated about anything bothered her for a reason she couldn’t explain.

Even his anger was ice cold.

But in some ways, that was why Ellie found him easier to talk at times. Because she didn’t feel like her upset would upset him, the way it did Joel.

“Okay…” Joel didn’t understand this though, and he was stuck between worrying that Ellie hated Otis or trusted his opinion more than Joel’s. Ellie had, after all, opened up to Otis a few times over things she refused to talk to Joel about.

Joel just wasn’t sure anymore if he should be jealous when they got along or glad for it- and was this what step parents went through with grown children?

It worried Joel that Otto would one day resent him for taking Otis’ attention and time away from him—

Joel readjusted himself in the armchair and sank down slightly, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes as he sighed. It was going to be a long night.

Janet turned as she observed her reflection in the mirror, smoothing her hands over her stomach. “Starting to look a bit sad, Spencer.” She muttered to herself, cupping her breasts to lift them a fraction before sighing and deciding to tighten the straps of her bra.

Black lace. Was it too much? The fabric was nothing like the simple cotton she preferred to wear during the day time. She wasn’t sure if she felt ‘sexy’ or stupid.

It was far too soon to be worrying about what to wear under her clothes though—

A knock came on the door.

“Go away.” She huffed under her breath, checking the clock on her bedside. She took a big gulp of wine from the bottle that sat on the nightstand before moving to the wardrobe to rifle through it for something that fit the description of ‘nice’ but not ‘trying too hard’.

Most of her clothes were practical work or day clothes though.

Another knock.

“Oh my God- can I not have one stupid evening to myself?” She grumbled, snatching her night gown to slide it on over her and tying the belt on her way to answer the door. The wine bottle was also collected. “What?” She demanded to know as she pulled it open.

Otis immediately grabbed her arm, gently, but with his usual firmness as he backed her into the room to nudge the door shut behind him.

Janet was nearly knocked off balance, tipsy as she was and overwhelmed by his sudden appearance. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” She smacked him for it, even though it wasn’t that unusual.

Otis let her go, holding his hands up to indicate that he didn’t mean to manhandle her. “Sorry.” His gaze found the bottle in her hand, brows rising lightly from a frown to indicate genuine surprise.

Janet readjusted the lapel of her robe, suddenly conscious of the fact she wasn’t wearing much, even though it wasn’t that unusual for her to sleep in the bare minimum with Wyoming’s humid summers. It was less how much she was wearing though, and more what.

“What do you want? Coming in here like that, I thought someone was dying.” She tried to recover with a scolding, closing both hands around the neck of the bottle as she glared at him.

Otis avoided her gaze, bringing his hand under the brace of his bad arm. “We need to talk.” He seemed to suddenly struggle to find his words.

He’d clearly come here to discuss something important judging by the urgency for privacy, but drunk as she was, Janet had no real deductive skill and was herself distracted.

“You need…” She began slowly as she moved closer, trying to keep her eyes on his face.

What she wanted to say was ‘take your shirt off’, but what she needed was to ask him what about.

Otis felt the door at his back as he took a half step backward, reluctant to stay still when she lifted her hand toward his face. It was instinct to lean away, but her fingers only gently brushed his fringe aside.

“I’ve ruined your hair.” She agonised, frowning slightly at the textured locks.

“It’s fine, Jan.” He tried to assure, delicately taking her hand by the wrist to move it away. Her joints felt somewhat swollen under his touch, and he could tell they were tender.

Fenton had made sure to hire a new worker to help her do the heavy duty things around the diner, so that she wouldn’t have to do anything more than pour a few drinks during rush hour. But if there was anything that Joel Miller had taught Otis, it was that people were stubborn about recognising new limits as they aged— and Janet Spencer was no exception to that rule.

This was the first time she’d ever gotten frustrated with cutting his hair though, her hands too unsteady and lacking their usual dexterity. A few ‘corrections’ later and his hair was for once shorter than usual. It didn’t look bad, but it didn’t look the way Janet wanted it to, which was the same thing in her eyes.

Janet sighed heavily. “It’s not fine, but I’m not going to argue about it.” She relented, lifting the bottle to her lips to have another sip of wine. “What does Joel think?” She liked his hair longer, but her opinion didn’t matter anymore she tried to remind herself.

“Haven’t seen him yet.” Otis dismissed, crossing his arms as he leaned against the door. “Why did you shave Ophelia’s hair?” That was why he was here.

“What? Is she complaining to you now?” Janet couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Of course he hadn’t come to see her because he missed her.

Otis frowned lightly, not exactly elated by her response. “She thinks you’re punishing her-“

“I’m not fucking punishing her, Otis.” Janet snapped. “Your sister is a nightmare, my back fucking hurts. I have to chase her around just to get her in the bath, every time. If I get her in the bath, I have to spend an hour trying to get the lice out of her hair. I thought I got it all out last time, but her hair’s so thick and rough, it’s impossible.” She was frustrated that it wasn’t obvious to him or maybe she interpreted his words as accusation. “I had to shave it all off, it’s summer, she should be grateful.”

Otis felt his blood pressure spike, though he took a deep breath. “I’m not fighting with you, I just wanted to know why.” He emphasised, rubbing his scarred brow and trying not to get needlessly angry at the woman.

He knew she was doing her best, but Ophelia was all sorts of red lines and his temper seemed especially short when it came to anything regarding her. Not that he noticed, but Janet did and it made her defensive.

The silence between them was tense.

“I’m going to take her-“ Otis began, only to get cut off by Janet again.

“Oh, for fucks sake. Don’t do this.” She huffed.

“Spencer.” Otis cut her off firmly, a tone she hadn’t heard from him since they’d left Pittsburgh. “Let me fucking talk.”

Janet felt a lump in her throat and she was no longer interested in the buzz the wine gave her. She made a motion for him to continue, not trusting her voice.

Otis watched her for a moment before sighing. “You deserve a break.”

Janet’s eyes immediately snapped to him, a grimace appearing. Was he mocking her? That was her first assumption, full of anger and self-resentment at what she considered her failure to properly look after Ophelia.

Otis touched a hand to her arm lightly, his tone quieter against her ear, in that painfully wonderful way he always spoke when he was trying to calm her.

They were close but he didn’t hug her and she wasn’t sure if she could hug him, so she just stood there as close as she could allow herself to be, feeling the warmth radiating from his chest only inches from her face as she bowed her head, listening.

“Quinn’s got me on standby till we figure out this hospital run, I’ve got nothing better to do.” Otis explained. “I’ll take the girl and Otto, see about a day out or somethin’. Give you a bit of breathing room.” He didn’t think it was fair to let her do all the heavy carrying, even though she’d been so eager to take Ophelia off his hands. The girl wasn’t Janet’s responsibility though, ultimately.

Janet didn’t think it was fair for him to remind her what she loved about him when she was trying to move past that. “You already have so many other things to worry about.” She tried to argue.

“The hell I do.” He denied. “Clayton’s taking Mel out for a couple days too.”

She would finally have some peace around here.

Janet didn’t know what to do with it though. “What am I supposed to do?” She asked, sulking now that her anger passed. Her fingers moved to the straps of his arm brace, idly fidgeting with the velcro.

“I don’t know. Free time fucking sucks.” Otis deadpanned.

“Great. I feel much better, asshole.” Janet scoffed, laughing despite herself. She finally lifted her head to look at him properly, expecting to find that playful smirk that normally accompanied his sarcasm but she didn’t find it.

She braced herself before asking, “is Joel not back yet?”

Otis stepped back, opening the door since the conversation was over. “Maybe next weekend.” He didn’t know the man’s schedule, it was a bit sporadic. “I’ll go pack the girl some clothes.”

Janet followed him, stopping in the doorway. “Otis.” She called him back, bringing her arms around herself and peering down the hall to make sure no one else was about.

Otis stopped, half turning to look at her.

“I was going to go out tonight,” She confessed. “Some over 50s party thing Robin invited me to. I don’t know, it’s kind of stupid.” She shrugged, laughing it off nervously and telling herself to stop beating around the bush. “I don’t really feel like going though… you want to have a drink? Just talk, feels like we haven’t done that in a while?” She looked to him hopefully but there was this kind of distance to his gaze recently and it didn’t seem to warm at all.

“Not tonight. Sorry.” Abrupt, no explanation or excuses.

“Oh. Okay.” Janet tried not to think he was purposely avoiding her, but it was difficult. “I’ll… see you around then.” She hoped.

“There she is!” Esther was already rosey-cheeked even though she’d barely finished half of her champagne glass.

Mike’s wife was a chipper, kind woman who everyone knew around Jackson because of her charity efforts which helped with providing clothes, food and other necessities to new families when they arrived in Jackson.

She was a churchly woman, never missing a Sunday of worship and never without her cross pendant which even now sat glittering and polished on her breast.

“You’re late. Why you take so long-lah?” Robin complained, beckoning Janet over to join them by the drinks table.

“Sorry, I didn’t think it was this formal an event, and Otis showed up out of nowhere to talk ‘kids’.” Janet sighed, brushing her greying locks behind her ears as she moved over.

Wearing a black A-line dress with lace, off-shoulder sleeves, Janet had wondered if she was overdressed. It was near impossible not to feel odd with her shoulders and legs showing after practically living in pants and shirts for the last decade, having little reason to make the effort. The dress was tea length, falling just below the knees which at least made her a little bit less self conscious, and she’d tried to tone it down by wearing simple black flats with little white bows to match the trailing white ribbon belt at the waist of her dress. She’d not had many options for jewellery, because beside her old wedding band which she had no idea why she was still holding onto, rings were a bad idea for her arthritic fingers and necklaces didn’t mix well with the already decorative lace.

It was a pair of pearl earrings for her, and then she’d twisted her hair into an up-do, leaving a few tresses to frame her face in an effort to hide her wrinkles— she hoped.

In comparison though, Esther looked gorgeous, wearing a cream coloured swing dress with delicate watercolour red roses printed on the fabric. And despite her bigger size, she seemed confident about showing off her legs in white opaque tights and platform heels. She wore dangly crucifix earrings to match her pendant, and had curled her hair, the locks bouncing any time she laughed so jubilantly.

Despite being older than Janet, the way Esther carried and cared for herself meant that she had less grey hair and didn’t seem ashamed of showing it off.

“I saved you a drink of the good stuff.” The woman whispered conspiratorially, holding out a fluted glass of pink champagne for her with a bright smile on her rouged lips.

“Thanks, I think I already had too much wine to get here though.” Janet confessed as she took it.

“Dealing with your ex, I think I would drink too.” Robin put in cheekily.

Esther gasped softly, hooking her arm in Robin’s. She was usually so collected and proper that her sudden emotiveness was new to Janet. “Oh, no. And you’ve got kids with him? That’s terrible. I hope he didn’t give you too much of a headache to take them for a night.” She misunderstood completely.

“Ah, it’s not like that.” Janet tried to explain. “We weren’t really dating or anything, and the kids aren’t ours, it’s a bit… complicated.”

“They weren’t dating, they just do what teenagers do now.” Robin provided unhelpfully as she patted Janet’s arm in sympathy.

Janet suddenly needed a drink and took a gulp, her cheeks flushed.

“Oh.” Esther said with a surprisingly understanding gleam in her eyes.

Janet didn’t know what to make of her reaction. Surely this wasn’t the kind of conversation to have with a religious woman, but Robin had already opened that can of worms and it was too late to worry about how Esther would react to it.

“How long has that been going on then?” Esther seemed far too interested though.

“Uh…” Janet didn’t know how to answer that.

Esther gently touched her hand, soft from moisturiser and smelling wonderfully of peaches. “It’s okay, dear, you don’t have to answer. I’m just an old woman and I like to hear about what I can’t have anymore.” She joked, but in an assuring way that Janet didn’t have to talk about it if she didn’t want to.

Janet was usually that person- the one who could make inappropriate jokes at her own expense and cheer people up. It was nice though, to have someone be that person for her. “It’s okay, it’s not that I mind talking about it, I just… he’s not a bad person, he was never bad to me either. I think I got too comfortable though, it was going to end the minute one of us found a real commitment.” She reflected.

“You didn’t like him that way then?” Esther asked.

Janet laughed. “I just got out of a horrible marriage not that long before I met him. Wasn’t planning on having a real relationship so soon, and you know… it’s nice not being lonely after the fuck-up I had to deal with for seven years.” Talking about it now, Janet realised she’d never really had the chance to speak to anyone about her experience.

Kumi Berko and Otis Meyer had known her ex-husband, Ethan Murphy. They’d also known how horrible Ethan was, but Janet hadn’t exactly been a model citizen in Pittsburgh either. Blackmail had been their business- their way of making a comfortable living in the cutthroat environment that most Hunters found themselves in. And her history had been a reason for distrust between her and the two men for some time, but while Otis had come to trust her over time, Kumi still believed her capability of being cunning or self-serving were something to be wary of.

When she’d first started sleeping with Otis, it had been sudden and undiscussed. She’d been meaning to use her feminine charm to secure her own interests because making an enemy of her ex had put her in potential danger. Ethan had left her no choice but to ally with his biggest enemy, and Otis wasn’t above accepting Janet’s help against him.

Janet had already believed that when her stepson went missing that it was Ethan who’d killed him. His own son, just because Aiden had been outspoken about his disapproval of what Ethan and Janet did to extort others. Ethan was brutal and he wasn’t above hurting even his own family, after all. Janet knew the kind of man he was when she’d married him too, but even then she’d done it because it meant she didn’t have to worry about fighting to protect herself when Pittsburgh went under.

Kumi was right, of course. Janet was the kind of woman who could do a lot to survive, but she wasn’t the kind who would do anything. Moral superiority was just a mighty thing to have outside the walls of communities like Jackson. Moral superiority was what got women like Enid and Melissa swept up in cults like the Illuminated.

And Janet knew that seducing Otis Meyer was a stupid thing to make an attempt at, but it had kept her alive and she had found family and now that she had survived, she could be a decent woman. Otis hadn’t kept her around because she was sleeping with him either, the man was far too clever to let her wrap him around her fingers anyway so… maybe they had both wanted to trust each other.

How was she supposed to explain this to people like Robin and Esther though? They were different people to the company she’d kept among the Hunters, and she doubted either of them had to rely on marrying men they loathed just to make sure they didn’t end up dead, raped or thrown out.

It was at times like this when Janet missed Dominique Okoro and Dorothy Simmons.

Otis Meyer had been Janet’s greatest conquest, her only love story, and her self-made heartache. Why couldn’t she find another man who she was just as much attracted to? He didn’t have to be a Hunter, as long as he accepted that Janet was her own woman and the things that shaped her were her strengths, not a topic for shame or guilt.

“Is he quite the looker then?” Esther drew her back into the conversation between her and Robin. She had seen Otis before, but she didn’t reconcile the man who’d saved her husband’s life with Janet’s friends-with-benefits scenario.

“Gorgeous.” Robin cut in, making Janet laugh.

“You have no idea.” Janet sighed wistfully and then drew her shoulders back as she readjusted her bra through the shoulder of her dress. “Plenty of memories to take to bed with me at least.” She joked, making Esther gasp and Robin giggle.

Three drunk old ladies could gossip like young women at a bar too.

The evening was just starting, and though Janet couldn’t be entirely sure, she could have sworn that the old sheriff whose name she’d forgotten had been staring in their direction.

He was sitting further along at the bar with Yasser Waleed who seemed engaged in a one-sided argument with Seth. Whatever they were talking about, it had Seth quite heated and he gestured passionately as he spoke.

“See someone you know?” Esther asked Janet when Robin left them, interrupting the men to get a refill for herself.

“I know Waleed, he’s a Doctor, works with the Marauders.” Janet shrugged, surveying her drink briefly. She hadn’t drank enough of it to warrant a refill.

“Arabian man with the silver streak, right? Handsome.” Esther assessed.

“I guess. Want me to introduce you?” Janet hadn’t really thought about him. He was background noise.

“Oh, no thanks. I’m happily married.” Esther laughed, wiggling her fingers to remind Janet of her ring. “Why don’t you go over?”

Janet shrugged. “Who’s that man with him? Feels like he’s been staring at me.”

“What? You mean Lewis?” Esther asked, humming briefly. “He’s been around Jackson for a long time, think he was a sheriff or something before all this. He knew Mrs Miller’s father, Nolan.” She told her.

“Married?” Janet didn’t know if Lewis was attractive to her.

He was a slim man, with silvered hair that had been neatly combed behind his ears, evidence of what might have been blond visible at the roots and in his moustache even though his beard had already fully greyed. Thin-rimmed round glasses sat on his sharp nose, and he looked somewhat somber.

“No, but he had this young girl he fostered after her parents died out on a patrol run. Poor thing, she died barely into her 20s. They buried her two months ago.” Esther’s voice was soft with sympathy as she told Janet this. “Only one who showed up to the funeral, aside from Maria and Tommy that is. Was a sad thing, really. So young and no friends.”

Janet squeezed her hand gently. “Can’t imagine what that must feel like.” She didn’t know she was talking about Naomi who Owen had accidentally pushed down the stairs. “I have a little girl in my care, and honestly she’s just awful, but I’d never want anything bad to happen to her.”

Esther hummed in sympathy. “I raised five kids, I know how that feels. Never had any problems with them when they were younger but gosh teenagers are awful.”

“This one’s only a runt, but she screams and breaks things-“ Janet huffed, catching herself before she could start ranting at the woman.

“Temper tantrums? How old is she?” Esther asked.

“No idea, somewhere between seven and ten, maybe.” Janet took a handful of dried fruit to snack on. “She might be something they call non-verbal.”

Esther let out a soft ‘ah’ of understanding. “Not easy having a special needs kid.” She sympathised. “Has your ex taken her for the evening then?”

“He said he’d take her for a few days, but I don’t know… I feel guilty, I signed up for this, you know? I said I could handle it.” Janet expressed, unable to stop herself now that the topic was open.

Esther had such a kindness about her too that made it easy to open up without realising.

“I worked with foster kids before the outbreak.” Esther confessed. “A few of them came from difficult backgrounds, they were almost always brought back. I know it’s not easy, but you know… you’re not alone, and there’s a support circle at the Church if you-“

“Oh, no, no, no. Thank you.” Janet declined quickly. “I’m not so sure about… that.” She tried not to offend the woman but Esther just laughed.

“Don’t worry, it’s not a religious thing. We have all kinds of people coming, it’s all very relaxed.” Esther assured. “If you want, you can come pick up a flyer from the community board and take your time thinking about it.”

Janet took a moment, rubbing her sore knuckles. “Yeah… maybe. I need to get out the house more anyway.” She pushed out of her seat with an inhale. “But for now, I’m going to talk to Mr Lewis.” She announced.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: To do no Harm, But to Kill Anyway

“Otis, can we watch a movie before bed? Pleeeeeease!” Otto requested as he hopped down the stairs, dressed in his stripy blue pyjamas already.

In his own opinion, he was now too old to be wearing the giraffe print anymore and he’d grown a whole 2 inches over the past year so that must mean he was now a big boy.

“I don’t know.” Otis replied, turning the dials on the oven to set it to preheat. “Depends on what you want to watch.”

“Well, there’s no school tomorrow.” Otto brought his slippers over from the hall as he negotiated, setting them down on the kitchen floor before sliding his feet in. “We can pick a movie together?” The slightly oversized slippers slapped lightly against the tiles as he crossed the kitchen.

Otis hummed to indicate he’d think about it, moving back to the counter to finish cutting the mushrooms he’d started on earlier. “Why don’t you and Ophelia pick one?”

It wasn’t long before he felt Otto’s hands on the back of his belt. The boy somehow seemed to always need to have some sort of contact even if he knew that Otis already had limited mobility thanks to his arm. He couldn’t carry him around anymore, and fortunately Otto had grown out of the habit of asking him to.

“She’s still in her room.” Otto droned, his tone making it clear that he didn’t like the idea, and he sighed as if Otis had greatly burdened him with the suggestion.

It was so funny how simple a child’s worries were.

But Otto was determined not to let Ophelia’s non-presence upstairs ruin his evening. “Whatcha making?” He tried to peer around the man to see what was on the menu. “Can I help?”

“You wanted pizza, right?” Otis could feel his right hand cramping, his fingers starting to lock with numbness. The bone had healed at his shoulder but the nerve damage was too extensive to allow him full mobility just yet. At least, after an attempt at rehabilitation he had some motion. “Want to help me cut this?”

Otto’s face lit up. “Really?” Janet never let him help in the kitchen, but he would be nine years old come Fall and he really wanted to be as useful around the house as Fenton was.

“As long as you’re careful.” Otis set the knife down on the chopping board, squeezing his cramping hand in an attempt to ward off the painful prickling sensation.

“I’ll be careful!” Otto promised, rushing over to the sink to wash his hands, up on his tiptoes to reach the faucet more easily.

Otis would join him shortly, pouring some of the soap for the boy and then for himself to wash his hands. “Roll your sleeves up.” He reminded the boy, nudging the step-stool toward the island where the chopping board was with his foot.

Janet kept the step-stool there just for Otto, because the boy loved hanging around the kitchen when she was making something. It had been a while since he’d stuck around though as he’d finally started making friends at school and now visited a boy called Sammy who lived across the street, nearly every day after school.

“Can we make a pizza for Joel too?” Otto asked as he slid his sleeves up his arms, trying to roll them properly.

“I don’t know if he’ll be home tonight.” Otis admitted, locating his brace where he’d left it on the little dining table under the window in the corner of the kitchen.

Otto clambered up onto the step-stool, waiting for Otis to guide him as he grabbed a mushroom from the sieve nearby. “Maybe if we tell him that we’re making pizzas, he’ll come visit?”

Otis didn’t even know where to begin with letting Otto down. “I’m sure he’ll be very happy that you’re thinkin’ ‘bout him.” He sighed, setting his hands on the boy’s shoulders as he stood behind him.

“I like Joel.” Otto expressed, setting the mushroom onto the chopping board and grabbing the knife’s handle as carefully as he promised. “He’s got all these cool books and he makes really neat things from wood.” His grip was readjusted with Otis’ help.

“Hold this too.” Otis prompted, moving his other hand to hold the mushroom.

“You know, he’s really good with guitar. I wish I was that good, but I’m still learning.” Otto continued, pausing his chatting briefly to concentrate on the first slice.

It was slanted, maybe a little chunky too. The second piece wasn’t that much better but Otto was giving it his best effort to learn the motion of pushing the knife rather than trying to force it down.

“Is he busy because Dina and Ellie are having a baby?” Otto asked after successfully chopping up the first mushroom. Clumsy, awkward pieces were pushed to join the pile of neat, uniform ones that had been cut before.

“Yeah, I guess.” Otis felt a bit better about letting Otto handle the knife, though he stayed where he was to keep an eye on him just in case.

Otto was more than happy to have him close.

Something about Otis always being there when they were out on the road- before they even joined the Marauders- it was safety. Nothing bad ever happened when Otis was around. Bad people didn’t come to hurt him.

Otto didn’t really remember the first night he’d spent with Otis. Though it really wasn’t that long ago, maybe two or three years, in deep winter out on the road. Otto had been sick with a terrible fever, hot one minute and chilled the next. Janet had done her best to keep him cool until his temperature wasn’t so terrible, but he’d woken up freezing in the middle of the night.

Otis was awake on watch, but he was always awake back then- even when someone else was on duty- and he’d given Otto his jacket, and wrapped him up in blankets and held his hands so they would be warm until Otto had fallen asleep again.

These particular details were lost to a young child, but the feelings of warmth and safety remained.

Otis didn’t remember any of this either, in truth. The things that happened out on the road had aged him, and he preferred not to think about them at all.

Coming to Jackson had probably been the best decision though, despite his initial reluctance to get too comfortable. Otto was happy here, he didn’t have night terrors as much anymore, he was finally going to school and making friends with children his own age.

It was more than any kind of future Otis had ever imagined for a child conceived under the worst conditions possible. Otto didn’t know how many people had died to protect the secret of his conception— the Pittsburgh Hunters’ rule against children had made Dominique’s pregnancy a death sentence.

Pittsburgh was in a terrible state after the civilians had been pushed to riot in the QZ by the Fireflies. Food shortages, witch hunts, families disappearing overnight, people dragged out onto the streets and beaten. Discontent was a dangerous thing to leave unchecked, and the Fireflies had seen it as an opportunity to weaken FEDRA and ‘liberate’ the people by giving them the weapons with which they could defend themselves against FEDRA’s tyranny.

After fourteen brutal months of fighting between the rebels and soldiers across the city, those very same weapons the Fireflies had armed the rioters with were pointed at the back of their heads the moment that FEDRA withdrew from the QZ.

Hisayuki Machii, the man who would then become the central leader of the Hunters, made it clear that the Hunters were not going to become some Firefly proxy. They quickly made their own rules for survival, and more stringent measures had to be taken as they came to realise just how little supplies there were.

FEDRA was no hero, but there were some decent people in places of authority across different QZs who had prevented lawlessness and tried their best to ration supplies so that ordinary civilians didn’t have to risk their lives against the Infected. Many of those had even tried to prevent the riot massacres by withdrawing their soldiers or ordering them to stand down, safeties on. Inadvertently, they were the first to be lynched because they didn’t put up a fight. It was no use trying to establish good will when wearing a badge made you guilty by association. Those who fled ended up as Marauders, among them being Rebecca Quinn, Yasser Waleed, Joanna Clayton, Caleb Jones and later himself and Viraj Sahil.

The things they’d seen and done to get there though… Otis had been in the Pittsburgh QZ when it fell, he’d been in full uniform. The only thing stopping him from getting lynched was the fact he’d accidentally saved Hisayuki Machii from being martyred by Fireflies. A mistake he’d live to regret for the next decade.

According to Hisayuki, children could not contribute to the upkeep of the group. They were extra mouthes to feed, more vulnerable to sickness without vaccination, they needed care which took away from the workforce, and the Hunters did not make it their business to raise child soldiers the way that the Seraphites did out in Washington.

Dominique and Kumi had known this. They’d been in Pittsburgh through the riots too, and they knew that carelessness could get them killed or thrown out.

Helping Dominique protect Otto had cost Otis everything he had to lose, and the poor boy didn’t know that he was the reason for any of it.

But how was Otis supposed to resent him?

He’d made the choice to help Dominique and Kumi of his own accord.

Never in his life had he imagined that he’d be standing in a kitchen with their boy, making lazy dinners and talking about absent lovers and movies on a warm summer night. And it made him miss his wife, and wonder if maybe… just maybe, there was a chance that he and Layla could have shared this little slice of happiness together.

His cut finger felt heavy under the weight of the silver wedding band around it, trying to lure him with bittersweet memories.

Why tonight? He’d thought he’d moved on.

His heart was being crushed inside his ribcage with unwanted feelings of loss ever since he’d killed John Ackerman. He’d lost everything- his youth to caring for his disabled brother, his heart to a one-sided marriage, his health to looking after everyone else and just stuffing all those emotions down— He didn’t realise that it was loneliness that made him this way.

“Otis?” Otto looked up at him inquisitively when he’d finished the last mushroom, wondering what to do next.

Otis withdrew, ice freezing everything up again before he could drown in it. “Good job, kiddo.” He gently ruffled the boy’s hair, forcing himself to focus.

“Do we put them on the pizzas now?” Otto beamed up at him and Otis felt numb.

“Sure.”

It was stupid to even think about all these things when they didn’t matter. Otis had enough of responsibility, he had enough of people, he couldn’t stand them anymore. That wasn’t anyone’s fault. He was just tired and he knew this.

Otto pushed the empty sieve aside, trying to carefully spoon the marinara sauce on to the imperfect circles of rolled dough before he’d delicately place the cut mushrooms and sliced sausage on, piece by piece, ever so patiently counting them out to make sure every mini pizza had an equal amount of topping.

Otis removed the knife from the counter, setting it in the sink on his way to the fridge to retrieve a beer.

Otto watched him curiously for a moment but didn’t seem to find anything strange about it. “Otis, why do you and Janet have to look after Ophelia?” He asked, hoping that Otis had a better answer for him than Tommy did.

Otis popped the cap with ease since bottles were recycled in Jackson and refitted to give the authentic feeling of an old comfort. “‘cause I’m her big brother. It’s somethin’ I have to do. Janet’s real kind so she’s offered to look after her when I’m workin’.” It was the truth, though not many people knew that Ophelia was his sister.

There was no point trying to hide it though, it wasn’t really something to be ashamed of, and people would eventually start asking anyway. It was better than having people assume she was his and Janet’s daughter as some had already started implying.

Otto was trying to understand it. “Is that why you look after me?” He asked. “Because it’s something you have to do?”

Otis took a big gulp of beer before moving over to hook his arm around the boy’s midsection. “I took you in ‘cause I knew your Ma and she asked me to.” He’d already explained that to Otto before, and now he hoisted him up off the step-stool to move him to the sink again. “Oh, you’re gettin’ heavy.”

Otto giggled as he was lifted, wriggling slightly to adjust himself during the short flight before he’d tiptoe up again to wash his hands. “Kumi showed me some old pictures of her. You were in one of the pictures too.” He told him.

“Was I?” Otis didn’t remember having any pictures taken.

Eugene Linden did enjoy photography as a hobby though, and even had an old analog camera and a lighter weight Polaroid camera which he took good care of. He’d photographed people more than places, as if documenting their existence throughout the end of the world.

Otis had kept the Polaroid Eugene had left behind when they’d parted ways, but these types of cameras didn’t have any sort of memory to store photographs so it was just a relic of the short time they’d spent together.

Otto nodded his answer. “There was a woman in the picture too. Kumi said her name was Lily, and that she was your wife. I didn’t know you were married.” He was chatty because he was comfortable enough to be inquisitive around the man.

“Layla.” Otis corrected gently. “You were too young to remember it but she held you when you were just a tiny, lil’ thing.”

“Really?” Otto squinted as if trying to somehow retrieve an impossible memory. “What happened to Layla? Did she leave too? Like my mom and Dorothy?”

Otis wished he didn’t ask. “Yeah, she…”

He didn’t need to remember her gasping for air, his arms crushing her so tightly in an effort to keep her with him but she’d bled out and he’d heard nothing but her soft, whispered prayers as she slipped away.

Layla Amin had deserved everything good in the world, but it had been a miracle that someone who refused to kill or hurt anyone had survived as long as she did to begin with. Otis had known that, but it hadn’t prepared him at all, it didn’t hurt any less when it did happen.

Ding!

The oven pinged to announce that it was ready to be used and Otis crossed the kitchen without really processing anything.

Otto trailed after him. “Can we eat dinner and watch TV?” He knew he was pushing his luck because Janet would never allow him to eat in the living room, insisting that he needed to chew and swallow his food properly before he was allowed to do anything else.

“Yeah. Won’t be long, so… go get Ophelia.” Otis needed a moment though to breathe, and really what was the harm in one night out of the ordinary?

Otto threw his arms around him, crashing into him with the force of his affection as he cheered.

Otis tried not to flinch from the suddenness of the motion, holding his bottle out of the way. “Easy, kiddo-“

“You’re the best!” Otto had forgotten his grudge against the girl and was off like a bolt to find her, leaving the man alone.

Otis sighed heavily, the exhalation shaky and he tried to drown it with the rest of the beer, moving to set the bottle in the sink before unlocking the door leading out onto the side porch and stepping outside.

It was dark now, the sun having finally disappeared in its entirety from the sky, leaving Jackson a canvas of streetlights, twinkling like fireflies in the summer.

There were still people outside, the sound of laughter from a garden party a couple of blocks away carrying in the night air, out of sight from this tree enclosed avenue.

The picnic benches in this beer garden along the side of the diner were abandoned this late in the day, which was unusual considering the fact that Janet liked to keep the pub open well into the late evening on weekends.

Otis followed the porch steps down, heading towards the outdoor garage a little ways down.

A dusty bunker light blinked to life when he flipped the switch, revealing the empty interior with the peeling paint along its wooden walls, fortunately devoid of rot thanks to the heat.

It had been left empty since Jones moved out, and he’d established his own mechanics workshop in the middle of Jackson for better business so there was nothing here.

Except for Otis’ things and a few cleaning and repair supplies, left to collect dust.

Janet had packed them when he’d moved into Joel’s place, and each box was neatly labelled- ‘clothes’, ‘gear’, ‘books + things’- that was it, really. Not enough books or miscellaneous things to warrant a box of their own, but she knew he was too particular about his gear to mix the two together.

It was kind of her to bother, though she’d mostly done it because his room here had become Abby’s over the last two months.

Otis moved over to open the items box, sighing as he found the pieces of Eugene’s camera which Abby had broken. He’d probably need to fix it some time- set aside; a well used copy of ‘Goodnight Mister Tom’, a Bible, some faded photographs, a case containing Dorothy’s glasses, a notepad that was falling apart, Otto’s old sketchbooks, all the altoid tins he used to trade with Tess- and then finally, a small tinderbox.

The thing was an antique but it somehow still worked.

He pushed open the hollowed out Bible, retrieving a packet of cigarettes from inside.

He did pause- it had been years, but the reflection was temporary and tipping one out came so easily that the cigarette was in his mouth without bothering to put everything back in its place.

The light was shut off and the door locked again.

“Meyer?”

Otis paused, turning his head to find Jesse coming around the corner from the front porch. He’d nearly walked past him without noticing. “Hey.” What was he doing here?

Jesse took a few uncertain steps closer, like he wasn’t sure if it was okay to be here. “Closed early today?” He didn’t look like he was doing very well, his stubble more prominent than usual and he wore a sweatshirt even though it was somewhat warm.

“Janet’s out, so…” Otis debated if maybe he should save his cigarette for after he put the kids to bed, leaning on the door frame as he studied the younger man. “You here to see Fenton?”

Jesse slid his hands into his pockets, giving a half shrug. “I saw him earlier before he was discharged.” He admitted.

It wasn’t his business. That’s what Otis told himself, but somehow he wasn’t surprised by Jesse’s state. Two months ago, after everything that had happened with the Salvagers, he’d told Joel that he didn’t think Jesse would be okay.

Aw, hell, whatever.

“Come on in, I’ll get you a drink.” He didn’t stick around to negotiate it, pushing off the door to head inside and let Jesse follow at his own pace.

A quick check on the oven revealed bubbling cheese, golden crusted and smelling divine.

“You hungry?” He asked over his shoulder.

“Not really.” Jesse admitted, a bit awkward as he sauntered in, shutting the door behind him. This wasn’t the first time he was talking to Otis Meyer, but it was the first time they were talking alone which was new.

Talking wasn’t really what it could be called though.

“Cold beer’s in the fridge. Help yourself.” Otis slid the tray out the oven with the oven mitt, setting it on the cooling rack.

Jesse watched him for a brief moment before doing as invited and getting a bottle, finding himself swallowing subconsciously at the inviting condensation dripping along the side of the brown glass.

He was wearing a sweatshirt because he was cold from not eating all day, though he couldn’t really find his appetite. A cold drink was always welcome though.

“Otis!” Otto ran into the kitchen, bouncing slightly as he went. “I got Ophelia! We picked Shrek 2!” He announced, barely stopping to breathe as he waved at Jesse. “Hey, Jesse!” And then he was gone again.

“Otto, don’t run around so much-“ Otis called after him exhaustedly, sighing as he followed the boy out of the kitchen.

Jesse stood around awkwardly, nursing his bottle of beer until the man returned.

“Come on.” Otis prompted, again not seeming to wait around.

The lighting in the lounge was more ambient than the well lit kitchen, saloon doors leading to the bar where Otis set a plate down for him to indicate he should sit and eat.

Jesse wasn’t usually worried about politeness but it felt rude to refuse twice, and so he shuffled himself awkwardly onto a stool on the other side of the counter. His gaze was briefly drawn to the pale light of the TV beyond the lounge doors leading into the back of the house where the living room was, watching as Otto poured out a glass of water for himself and for Ophelia.

Jesse hadn’t really seen her much since he’d found her at the hardware store in Jackson Hole, and initially he didn’t recognise the girl because of how different she looked after just two months of being here.

She was still visibly malnourished since it wasn’t easy to get her to eat at a normal rate quite so quickly, but she was now clean and free of bruises and scrapes. Her hair had been shaved, no longer prone to being dry, tangled, and covered in dust. In time, it would grow again, hopefully healthier and better taken care of, but it was probably a mercy to have it so short in this weather. She was dressed in a big, baggy blue t-shirt and borrowed shorts that looked more like three quarters on her petite figure -likely Otto’s old pyjamas that he no longer wore.

The girl sat on the sofa with her knees drawn up to her chest, precariously balancing the small plate of pizza while she waited for it to cool. She had a sad face and a blank stare as she watched the motion pictures flickering across the screen. But for just those few minutes, she was engaged in something just like any child her age.

Jesse hoped she would one day find a sense of normality, because he didn’t know if he could live with the guilt of making her lose her father or taking her away from the people she’d known all her life. He believed it was the right thing, he knew that the Salvagers were sick people, but he wondered if the girl understood, or if maybe it wasn’t more merciful to have made an effort to find her mother and let them start over together.

It weighed on him, all of it—

The light clink of an ice-filled glass being set in front of him drew him away from his depressing thoughts.

“You look like you need somethin’ a little stronger than beer.” Otis remarked, by way of explanation as he poured him a shot of bourbon. He’d retrieve a glass for himself too, drawing the ashtray closer before moving around the counter to sit down.

“Thanks.” Jesse set his bottle aside to take the glass, briefly debating something before speaking again. “I’m… sorry, Otis.” He apologised quietly.

A slit brow rose inquisitively at the sudden apology. “Whatever the hell for?” Otis slid the cigarette into his mouth before lighting it, coughing at the first inhalation before waving some smoke away. It had really been a long time.

Jesse kept his eyes on his glass. “I… well, it’s my fault Fenton got shot. If I’d just left things alone instead of trying to play superhero…” He huffed as his sentence fell apart.

He couldn’t help it. Ellie had told him to leave Martin alone, and he should have. Because he’d not thought about things logically- his only concern was to save a child he’d thought to be in danger, to maybe find some good in humanity as Maria had always encouraged him to do. But deep down he’d suspected that it was too good to be true that Martin’s daughter would still be alive, and even if she had been… what good would it have done to find her?

Jesse knew that people hardly ever changed. Martin was dying, it was too late to repent, and yet something had made Jesse want to try.

It was reckless, just like everything else he’d done, and now he was questioning everything he thought was true and moral.

Why did Maria ever think he could fill in for her?

Otis didn’t say anything for the longest moment and Jesse couldn’t swallow the lump in his throat. “You know somethin’, kid?” Smoke flowed from his lips as he spoke, the charred scent of tobacco somehow mellowing him so easily after years of refrain. “Growin’ up’s a darned thing. If you don’t fuck up, you never learn.”

Jesse didn’t know if he should be worried or relieved that Otis seemed to… assure him? He had such an indifferent mannerism about him that it was hard to predict what he’d say.

It only eased his shame a little though. “I know, but… I’m not really a kid. I’m a man, I have a kid on the way and I still make stupid decisions.” He admitted this for the first time to someone other than Dina. “Fen’s not really that much older than me either.”

Dina had insisted that she loved the side of him that wanted to cheer everyone up and look out for everyone, but Jesse wasn’t sure if maybe he’d held on to that idea a bit too long while she’d moved on. Maybe that was why she’d left him, because she’d ‘outgrown’ him in some ways.

Otis scoffed, tapping his cigarette on the ashtray before lifting his glass. “That boy’s been givin’ me grief since he was 17. His favourite pastime was throwin’ apples at fucking Clickers till I told him I’d throw him next.” He admitted.

Jesse was a bit blindsided by the thought of Fenton having ever been that immature only some years ago. Sure, Jesse pretended not to take things too seriously but even he knew how dangerous it was to mess around the Infected and outside the walls.

Still, Fenton was nothing like that anymore. His wake up call probably hadn’t gotten others hurt though and that was what made Jesse feel… inadequate.

Jesse shrugged the notion away lightly. “I laugh things off a lot, but… I wish I had my shit figured out like you and Joel sometimes.” It was embarrassing to admit, but it was the truth. He’d seen both men in action, and yet neither seemed to get enough credit for their willingness to get their hands dirty to protect others.

Maria shunned them, she’d mentored Jesse to take on more of her views, but Jesse suspected that wouldn’t be enough after what happened.

Otis sighed. “People are good at different things, Jesse. Joel was a single parent at 18, I got locked up at 17. In our time, we were fucked.” He pointed out. “You gotta know what’s important and work on that.” Advice was never his forte, but Jesse was important to Fenton and Otis doubted that Fenton had any idea how guilty Jesse felt, let alone blamed him for what John Ackerman did.

“I guess I know now.” Jesse admitted after some reflection. “But man… I don’t even know the first thing about being a dad-“

“Listen,” Otis cut him off there though, standing up to get himself a refill. “I’m the last person you should come to for that.” He’d settle for seltzer to avoid getting drunk when he had kids to watch over.

Jesse’s eyes followed him, full of inquiry. He was lonely in his own way now that his two best friends were away at the farmhouse. And despite how ‘popular’ he seemed, his lively sense of humour and lightheartedness making him easy for everyone to get along with, he didn’t have any other close friends.

How was he supposed to talk to Fenton about this when Fenton was supposed to be recovering because of him?

Fortunately, Otis was spared from having to shut him down a second time when the doorbell rang.

Jesse was distracted by it, but Otis tapped his plate to tell him to eat.

“Keep an eye on the kids for me.” He instructed, taking one last long drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray and heading over to check the door.

Fenton appeared shortly on the landing, overlooking the door from above. “T, is Janet home yet?”

Otis looked up at him. “She’ll be out late. Jesse’s here if you want to talk to him.” He replied.

“Jesse?” Fenton leaned over the railing to try and find the man before ducking his head and disappearing out of sight to come downstairs.

Otis would leave them to it, pulling the door just as the bell rang again.

Joel Miller stood on the porch, looking sheepish, covered in brick dust and sweat still. “I thought about getting roses, but I couldn’t find any.” He tried to joke.

“Jesus Christ, Miller.“ Otis deadpanned, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame as he took him in.

An apologetic smile pulled at Joel’s lips as he inched closer, trying to gauge if Otis was angry at him or not. “Got home and didn’t find you there.” He stopped once they were close enough that he could rest his arm on the frame just beside the younger man’s head, leaning over him just a fraction. “I was worried.” He confessed quietly, allowing himself to just soak in his presence.

It felt like they’d been apart for far too long, but it had only been a couple weeks.

“Janet’s out, so I’m lookin’ after the kids.” Otis filled in, refusing to budge despite how close they were.

Joel could- wanted - to kiss him, but that was a risky move right on the door step. “You coming home tonight?” He’d settle for a light touch to the man’s hip instead, holding his gaze as his thumb lightly inched his shirt up fraction by fraction until he could feel the warm skin underneath.

“After I put them to bed, maybe.” Otis didn’t think Joel should be making such bold invitations in his condition, but to say he missed him was an understatement and if responsibility didn’t keep him here, and he was a less sensible man, then Joel would regret putting his hands on him quite so soon.

It was almost strange how light he suddenly felt, knowing that Joel had come out here to look for him before even considering to rest when he was so obviously tired. He wished he didn’t, because he never wanted him to push himself too hard for his sake, but he didn’t need to hear that Joel had missed him or get some gift to know it.

Joel had no way of knowing that though, taking Otis’ passive tone as uncertainty. He withdrew his hand lightly, letting his fingers trail upward over the ridges of the man’s defined abdomen ever so slowly. “I’ll make it up to you.” He promised, turning his head ever so slightly as he leaned in, unable to resist the temptation.

Otis found himself anticipating it, butterflies and everything, and he wanted to tell him that he had no reason to because he’d not done anything wrong but now Joel was so close and he couldn’t think about anything else when he was watching his mouth so closely—

It would have taken maybe three seconds to kiss him, but Joel suddenly stepped back and cleared his throat, resuming a more professional distance as he tried to act casual.

“Oh my God!” Janet’s unexpectedly jovial tone caught them off guard as the woman sauntered up the path towards the porch, waving in drunken merriness. “It’s Joel, hi~!”

“Janet.” Joel gave a curt nod in greeting, feeling extra self-conscious about her sudden appearance.

“I haven’t seen you in forever, bring it in!” Janet suddenly tried to hug him like they were old friends but Joel wasn’t so keen to be hugged right now, dusty as he was, and not so comfortable with her being so evidently drunk.

Joel would redirect her instead toward the door, but this landed her into Otis’ arms instead.

“You’re so warm.” Janet didn’t even seem to notice, snuggling in comfortably and nuzzling the man who tried to keep her upright since she was balancing precariously in heels.

“Did you walk here alone?” Otis questioned, evidently concerned.

Janet pulled back to look at him with a pout before pointing over her shoulder vaguely. “No, I’m not stupid. I met Marke and he walked me home.” She replied, pushing off him as if she just realised she’d hugged the wrong person and now tried to smooth her hair.

Otis and Joel caught a glimpse of the young man who didn’t seem confident enough to pass the perimeter fence, and was now rapidly walking off in the other direction to disappear.

“My feet are killing me.” Janet proclaimed, grabbing onto the door to try and remove her heels.

“Okay, well… looks like you’ve got your hands full tonight.” Joel sighed, deciding to extract himself from the situation, albeit with disappointment.

“Ha! You said full!” Janet seemed to find the phrasing funny, snickering to herself about some unknown joke as she tried to shimmy out of her tights next.

“Spencer, fucking- keep those on.” Otis had to grab her to stop her from undressing on the porch, collecting her abandoned heels before pushing her indoors. “I’ll see you later.” He added toward Joel, as a promise before he’d disappear after her.

Fenton and Jesse paused in whatever conversation they were having, distracted by the commotion.

“Janet?” Fenton half stood up, initially worried that there was something wrong with the woman when she was struggling to walk in a straight line.

“She’s fine, just drunk.” Otis assured, setting her heels neatly to one side. “Get her some water please?” He requested.

Janet paused, hanging on to the baluster of the stairs to keep her balance but not quite braving to go up them just yet. “I don’t want water, I need to pee.” She whined, again trying to take her tights off.

“Jesus Christ.” Otis grabbed her again, but this time he hoisted her up from her waist, throwing her over his good shoulder to carry her up the stairs more easily- and also as quickly as possible to avoid letting her embarrass herself any more in front of the boys.

Jesse watched them go like a storm passed him by and found himself wanting to actually laugh for the first time in a while. “Your parents are something else.” He told Fenton, still teasing him just a bit despite Fenton having already pointed out that they weren’t his parents.

Fenton needed a glass of water for himself. “You know I’ve never seen her drunk before?” He sighed, though there was a content smile on his face. He was glad to see Otis and Janet still getting along in some way. Things were almost back to normal around here and that put him at ease.

“Never?” Jesse took another bite of pizza. “My mother was such an upstanding citizen when I was a kid, but now I’m older she kicks me out the house so she can have one night stands.” He groaned at his own confession.

Fenton nearly choked on his water, his face colouring at the unexpected topic though he tried not to laugh at Jesse. “That sounds rough.”

Of course Jesse was adult enough to know that his mother deserved to enjoy herself too. She’d spent most of her life raising him in a tough world all by herself, but Jesse wanted to move out because he didn’t want to know what she was doing. She deserved her privacy and he was an adult who needed his own privacy too. The housing situation wasn’t exactly very open in Jackson right now though, as summer had just arrived and new units were only just half way through construction.

He’d considered finding a shared house like a few of the other young adults, but somehow the idea wasn’t really very appealing when he was used to having his own space and comfort at home.

“Does she have a boyfriend?” Fenton asked, thinking that Jesse was uncomfortable with having a new addition to the family around.

“Nah, it’s not that serious.” Jesse shrugged. “She says ‘why buy the whole pig for just one sausage’-“ He delivered the line by mimicking his mother’s accent but Fenton just burst out laughing at the phrasing, spattering Jesse with water in the process.

“Fuck- I’m sorry.” Fenton tried to pat him off, barely able to control his laughter, but the sound was so light and mirthful that Jesse found himself smiling too. “Hey, look- why don’t you crash here for the night?” He suggested.

Jesse hadn’t been intending to earn himself a pity invitation really, he’d just been talking and usually he stayed over at Dina’s place when this happened. “I don’t want to bother you-“

“Don’t be like that, man. It’ll be fun, first night home for me in a while too.” Fenton insisted, a sunny smile gracing his features.

Jesse hesitated for just a moment. “Well… I appreciate it. I’ll just swing by my place, pick up some stuff then.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: Devil’s Broken Heart

It was almost too cold even for a humid night like this one, goosebumps rising on Joel’s skin as he forced himself to sink lower into the water.

A deep inhalation- and he sat there for a long minute, straight backed, hands clinging to the edges of the tub as he readjusted to the feeling.

Home, sweet home.

A shower to scrub all of the grime and sweat of the day and now a cold soak to alleviate some of the pain in his leg and hip. Honestly, he preferred his baths nearly scalding, but he was making an effort to manage his symptoms better. The key word being ‘effort’, because overworking himself was second nature at this point and most of the time he was so engrossed in whatever task he’d set his mind to that he didn’t realise the passage of time until Dina came out onto the porch to tell him and Ellie to call it a day.

It helped him feel productive and less prone to being locked inside his own mind too, and his leg only really bothered him when he wasn’t too busy to notice.

When was the last time he’d let himself get carried away like this though? He couldn’t remember. Maybe not since before Abby had nearly killed him in the ski lodge last winter. But even now, half finished wood carvings were left to collect dust in his studio, never to be completed for lack of motivation.

Joel shifted to sink lower into the water, exhaling as he squeezed his hands around the stump of his leg, gently massaging out the prickling sensation that ran deep into the muscle, all the way to the bone.

He hadn’t been home for very long, but he found himself unable to relax, like he was waiting for something to happen.

His eyes moved across the ripples in the water, trailing across the bathroom’s patterned tiles and the flatweave rug towards the shut door. The overhead light had been left off, the lamps overhanging the wide mirror and the sink giving a sort of ambience under their tulip shades.

Maybe he should have left the door ajar so he could hear when the front door opened downstairs.

It felt almost ridiculous that such a thing crossed his mind and Joel shook his head, cupping his hands to scoop some water and rinse his face, shuddering slightly at the cool droplets that dripped down his neck and shoulders.

Even if the temptation lingered, it was outweighed by the thought of awkwardly hobbling around naked just to open the door and then return into a tub full of water he didn’t really want to be in to begin with.

Grumbling, Joel decided to pull the plug, not waiting for the water to drain as he stood with the help of the support rail, and grabbed the large towel from the stool nearby.

Strange as it was, bathing had always felt like a private activity best done alone, and as far as he was concerned, there wasn’t a romantic bone in Otis Meyer’s body anyway.

Joel eased himself to sit on the outer ledge of the bathtub, wrapping the towel around his body like a cape and letting his foot rest on the mat. One, lone, wet print.

He reached for the crutches he’d left leaning beside the tub and slid them under his arms before hoisting himself to stand, pausing only briefly at the sink to wipe an arc across the mirror so he could inspect his beard.

“Need a trim soon, huh.” He mumbled to himself, turning his head to inspect the greying patches, a stubborn curling lock sweeping across his brow from the parting of his hair.

If Tess saw him now, he wondered what she’d think. If she’d aged with him, would her sunken cheeks have filled? Would her thin brows still arc in annoyance any time someone dared to sass her? Would she finally cut her hair short the way she always said she would every summer?

Sometimes Joel still caught glimpses of her through sleep blurred eyes, silhouetted behind billowing curtains, smiling at him in some distant dream with that self-assuredness she carried around with her, playful and unafraid.

He wondered what she’d think of Otis.

If she wouldn’t still stand close to him and talk in hushed voices because she knew it frustrated Joel even if it was the most innocent conversation. Tess had always been his distraction while they were in Boston, and sometimes he knew she did things because she liked his attention on her.

And he wouldn’t have traded what they had for anything. He hoped that she would visit him again in a pleasant dream, just one more time, so he could tell her how he and Ellie were doing now. How he was finally living, as she wanted him to do.

Joel pulled the light switch on his way out of the bathroom to find the clothes he’d laid out on the bed- and maybe just in time too, because he heard the front door open downstairs.

Joel paused for a second, debating if clothes were even necessary and then awkwardly shimmied his underwear on.

Best not to make assumptions.

“Joel?” Otis called from downstairs, having seen the lights on from the windows.

“Yeah, I’m up here!” Joel made an effort to pull on his vest at least.

A light knock came on the bedroom door despite  the fact it had been left slightly ajar.

“Come in.” Joel opened the nightstand to retrieve the soothing cream Robin had given him to help with chaffed skin. “This is your room too, you know.” He pointed out, looking over as Otis pushed the door lightly.

“Yeah?” The man leaned against the door frame, resting his good hand on his belt as he took Joel in. “Doesn’t feel much like it when you’re not here though.” He reflected.

The words caught Joel off guard and he stopped his fidgeting. “I’m sorry, Otis.” The apology came easily but also with a lump in his throat. “I know I should’ve come back sooner-“ He began to say but Otis didn’t seem bothered about hearing excuses, crossing the distance between them.

“Dumbass.” Otis cupped his face, pushing his head up as he leaned down to kiss him.

Joel hummed lightly at the unexpected softness of the gesture, his hands fumbling slightly before he worked up the nerve to take him by the waist. “Hey.” He mumbled when Otis drew back, shifting further up the bed to draw the man closer still.

“What?” Otis asked, and kissed him again, ever so delicately, a hand moving to rest on the bed beside Joel to keep his balance.

Joel was tortured by the mellow kisses, the lingering brushes that seemed in no hurry to do anything about satiating his hunger. “I mean it.” He managed to whisper, shutting his eyes tightly as he felt another kiss against the corner of his mouth.

It was the last one for a moment as Otis shifted to unfasten his utility belt, pulling it free and setting it aside. A lazier kiss found Joel’s forehead, pants unzipped and soon joining the belt on the floor.

Joel opened his eyes, warm umber dark in the dim light as they admired the familiar contours of his body. He swallowed down the lump in his throat as he leaned forward, laying a kiss in the ridge of a defined hip as Otis lifted his shirt to pull it off.

“What’re you doing?” Otis asked, amused at the unexpected motion as he tossed his t-shirt. His first instinct was to lean away, but Joel’s hands remained firmly on his waist, keeping him close.

Joel didn’t answer him because he didn’t know how to. It was just this strange craving he had, to explore a little, to do something out of the ordinary- to take his time.

Otis threaded his fingers into Joel’s damp hair, gently brushing it back as he watched him.

Joel kissed along the waistband of his boxers, hooking a finger into the fabric but not quite drawing it down and instead following a pronounced vein upward to his abdomen.

Otis tensed slightly, a rather subconscious motion that pulled the muscles in his stomach taut underneath tanned skin as he leaned back a fraction, his fingers curling in the shorter locks at the back of Joel’s head.

He was getting restless, unused to doing nothing, and Joel could feel it in him.

“Just a little longer.” The older man whispered against his skin, pulling him onto the bed to bring him even closer.

Otis rested a knee to the side of Joel’s thigh, the hand at the nape of Joel’s neck moving to his shoulder. “You should dry your hair.” He pointed out, leaning down to kiss his temple as he readjusted himself on his lap.

“It’s warm. I’ll be fine.” Joel hummed, turning his head to kiss his throat, his hands caressing along his ribs and upward to squeeze softly at his pectorals.

Otis grunted against his ear, exhaling a soft curse. “You bastard.”

“Shut up, you love me.” A cheeky smirk of victory pulled at the corner of Joel’s mouth as he nuzzled him.

Otis flustered slightly, though it was more at the phrasing than what it implied, fingers curling into Joel’s hair again as he buried his face into his shoulder.

Joel’s touch was bolder than usual, a thumb brushing lightly over a nipple in curious exploration. He would have loved to see his reaction, but he knew better than to push his luck and it was nice to have Otis hugging on him anyway. Something about it made Joel want to be soft on him. “I missed you.” He confessed, the words escaping before he could allow himself to second guess them.

Otis squeezed him between his arms, an unspoken reciprocation before he’d nudge Joel’s chin up delicately to kiss him again.

This time Joel found his tongue melting in his mouth, teasing him with a delicious draw against the top of his own tongue before withdrawing just as abruptly.

He didn’t get to complain about it though, hands taking hold of his vest to pull it over his head before he was pushed to move further up the bed for better comfort. All the while smaller kisses were stolen from his lips, his cheeks, his jaw, peppered ardently against his beard.

Joel felt the weight of his body sink into the bed as he finally reached the pillows, the cool sheets reminding his fatigued muscles just how tired he actually was. And yet he didn’t want to let go of Otis, finding some sort of relief from the weight of his body resting on him.

It was pleasant, and unusual both, because Otis rarely seemed comfortable with putting his weight on him, and yet now Joel had him between his legs, strong arms sinking the bed either side of him.

“You’re always so warm.” Joel murmured as Otis leaned over him, their noses brushing softly as Joel laid a kiss on his scarred cheek.

“Sorry-“ Otis began to apologise, thinking Joel was overheated, but Joel’s hands settled firmly on his lower back, drawing him closer.

“No, I like it.” Joel softened his tone when he felt Otis flinch at the sudden grab, lifting his legs to settle them over toned thighs. It was a little strange to him how comfortable it was to put the stump of his right leg on him, a bit like having a hot water bottle there to relax with— and then this realisation made him chuckle to himself.

“What?” Otis noticed his laughter though, distracted by it.

“It’s stupid.” Joel shook his head to dismiss the thought, caressing over the man’s lower back, but his smile lingered even as Otis returned to kissing his face.

It was too distracting though, because the times when Joel smiled like that were rare, and it was such a charming expression.

“Seriously, Miller.” Otis nudged him to turn on his side, running a hand back through his hair in an effort to tame his loose bangs.

“It’s stupid, forget it.” Joel insisted, but he’d relent easily enough because it was kind of too funny not to share. “Okay, so…” He propped himself up on his arm as he turned to lay sideways, patting the pillows beside him to tell the man to relax too.

Otis moved over, sighing at finally being off his feet and moving his good arm under the pillow. His pale eyes moved to Joel as the other man’s arm draped across his middle, finding his free hand to entwine their fingers.

Joel didn’t seem to notice it, but Otis did- this gradual shift toward affection when, before, Joel seemed to reject it.

“Last two weeks up at the farmhouse, it’s been kind of rough sleeping there.” Joel began to explain his amusement, absently tracing the cool metal of Otis’ ring as he spoke. “I thought it was because I got used to my bed, y’know… been awhile since I slept anywhere else. My leg’s been hurting too...” He rambled a little, distracted by the way Otis watched him. He couldn’t quite describe it, but Otis Meyer had this kind of dead-eyed gaze, frigid, passive or maybe even bored most of the time- it was what Joel was used to in all the years he’d known him. But it wasn’t the way he was looking at him now. Now, it was lighter, interested, maybe even curious.

Joel brushed a curling lock away from the man’s eyes, feeling the flutter of lashes against his palm. “I was working hard here too most days, up at the new building site near the north wall, with Tommy.” He continued. “But I was sleeping good.” Honestly, he’d forgotten what he wanted to say and for a moment worried that his rambling would kill the mood. “Anyway,” He cleared his throat again, tearing his gaze away from the man as he awkwardly fished for the right words. “Well, I finally figured it out. You’re pretty warm and it kind of helps with… my leg.” He finished unceremoniously.

Otis wasn’t sure where Joel was going with that story, but it hadn’t ended the way he expected it to. “Uh-huh.”

Joel was a bit disappointed by his reaction, though Otis had never been the kind to read too much into subtle implications. “I’m saying it’s nice.” He tried to clarify. “You’re like a hot water bottle.” And joke to navigate his own awkwardness.

Otis scoffed at the second part, though a smile did appear. “Is that why you’re always puttin’ your cold hands on me at night?”

Joel didn’t know why his heart soared, his own smile broadening even though he tried to fight it. “Hey, you’re lucky I only have one foot, only one of your calves gets to be cold.”

Otis sighed, rolling his eyes. “Great.”

Joel sensed that something was off. He’d thought it was his neglect over the last two weeks at first, but Otis had already dismissed his apology over it and he didn’t seem angry. “Hey, how’s your arm doing?” He asked instead, leaning down to kiss his collarbone and nudging him over to spoon up against his back.

“It’s fine.” Otis grumbled slightly since he was more accustomed to Joel being the little spoon, but he settled after a moment, his gaze focusing on the far wall.

“You still going to physio?” Joel squeezed him gently, resting his chin on his shoulder.

Otis tried to relax. “Only about as much as I can bring myself to.” He hated being fussed over.

Joel figured as much, but Otis was using his arm a little more easily as far as he could tell so it wasn’t entirely dead. “Do you have plans tomorrow?” A change of topic maybe.

“Takin’ the kids out for a little while, then I’ve gotta see Maria about this damn hospital run Quinn keeps botherin’ me about.” Otis sighed, readjusting Joel’s arm around his middle.

Joel kissed his shoulder, tracing idle circles into his side. “… Any chance you can cancel?” He asked hopefully.

Otis pushed Joel’s arm off him, sitting up and lowering his feet to the floor. He wanted another cigarette, maybe a drink.

Joel rolled onto his back to give him space, watching him anxiously for a moment. That lump was back in his throat again. Maybe he was asking for too much? His hand moved to touch Otis’ back, fingers lightly caressing up his spine. “Hey, are you alright?”

Otis hummed, shifting to the edge of the bed and further out of Joel’s reach. “I’m okay, I just… sorry.” He felt sick and he couldn’t quite explain why.

Joel’s heart sank, petrified in his inability to decide what the right course of action would be here.

Otis was obviously anything but fine. He’d not been doing well for a while now, and it wasn’t that Joel hadn’t noticed, but Otis seemed to really believe it would work itself out and he would be alright again- so he kept dismissing any attempt from Joel to talk about it.

Still… it was difficult to do nothing.

“You can talk to me, you know.” He mumbled.

Otis turned his head to glance at him over his shoulder before nodding sombrely. “Yeah… I know.” It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, it was that words just silted in his throat, impossible to utter. He’d gotten used to choking on his feelings so much that it was now difficult to try and express them.

Joel sat up, wanting to offer a hug, to tell him it would be okay, that he would be here- something.

Otis took a deep breath, running his hand through his hair as he exhaled. “What do you want to do?” He asked, standing to collect a change of clothes from the wardrobe.

“What? Now?” Joel was distracted by the sudden shift in mood again, his eyes following the man. “Or tomorrow?”

Otis threw him a playful glance as he opened the closet. “Didn’t realise there were options.” He implied, finding his joggers first.

Joel wasn’t so quick to chase the teasing. Distraction was great, but for how long? He didn’t want to ruin the evening further though and put on a light smile. “I don’t know if… it’s a good idea. My hip’s killing me.” He admitted sheepishly.

“We don’t have to.” Otis slid the joggers on and collected the sleeveless sweatshirt that matched them, making his way around the side of the bed to kiss Joel.

Joel barely got the chance to reciprocate, wondering where all this energy was coming from. He touched the man’s arm, not quite grabbing, but hoping it would keep him near a little while longer.

Otis perched on the edge of the bed beside him, pulling the sweatshirt up his arms. “How about a cold coffee?” He suggested. “We can talk.”

Joel cupped his cheek, bringing him in for another light kiss. And then a second, lingering just a bit longer. His smile softened as he felt the man relax a fraction, not quite as eager to escape.

A moment of silence passed between them, Otis’ gaze lingering on Joel’s lips with a hazy heat.

Joel’s insides did all sorts of complicated twists inside his stomach at the realisation of just how much the man wanted him, and he cursed his lack of foresight from earlier in the day.

Otis blinked and the spell was broken, seeming almost to shy away as he brought the fabric of his shirt up to cover his mouth, needing a moment to recover.

Joel cleared his throat. “Yeah, I think I’d like that. Thanks.”

“Sure.” Otis stood, finally dressing before he’d leave the room.

Joel sat there for a long minute, just coming to terms with his new reality. Otis Meyer loved him. It was almost too much to process, but the smile crept up on him without his notice- and if someone had told him ten years ago that a FEDRA officer was the reason he’d be smiling to himself in an empty room like a damn fool, he would have told them to get bit.

Joel almost didn’t know what to do with himself. How had he gone two entire weeks without this elation?

He retrieved the tub of cream from where he’d abandoned it on the nightstand earlier, uncapping it and getting to work on his leg just for something to do.

Giddiness was not a feeling easily described, but it made fools out of otherwise sensible men.

And even after his leg and hip were sufficiently taken care of, Joel still had so much of it to exert. He opened the drawer again, sorting through various things for a pen and notepad, but the latter was woefully amiss and there was only an old scrap of paper that was already full of checklists from about a year ago.

“What’re you lookin’ for?” Otis asked as he returned, a glass of foamy iced coffee in each hand.

“My darn notebook.” Joel replied, pausing to take the glass from him first so he didn’t overuse his hand.

“What for?” Otis set the other glass on the opposite nightstand, switching the lamp on before opening the drawer to check if it was there instead. “I don’t see a notebook.” There were only books in this one.

Joel sighed, giving up his fruitless search and shifting to get comfortable again, propping a pillow against the head board to rest his back against. “I just wanted to make a list for tomorrow. For… things we want to do.” He admitted, keeping his eyes on the foamy coffee because he felt a bit embarrassed saying that out loud.

He hadn’t done this as a young adult at the height of his dating life. It felt strange to do it now.

Otis hummed, leaning across him and taking the pen he’d abandoned. “What do you want to do?” He settled right next to him, comfortable enough to tangle a leg through Joel’s.

Joel felt a pleasant warmth from the weight of his thigh, though he absently pictured what it would be like if Otis did leg-lock him— okay, he really didn’t know why he thought about that.

“Miller.” Otis calling his name in that way didn’t help much.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m thinking.” It was a half life, he was thinking, just not about appropriate activities. He took a long sip of his drink, letting the cold foam soothe his suddenly dry throat and humming at the pleasant coffee-vanilla flavour. It wasn’t too sweet and it was refreshing, cool for the humid night but still coffee. “So, first thing, breakfast.” He tried to refocus himself. “I’m thinking pancakes.”

Otis watched him for a moment, then took his free hand, bringing it to rest against his thigh and turning it over. “You ain’t usually a breakfast person.” He uncapped the pen with his teeth, then proceeded to write on Joel’s wrist uninvited.

Joel’s fingers curled slightly at the unfamiliar sensation, but there was something ridiculously romantic about making plans like this. “Sunday’s different. Sunday is for big breakfasts.” That was what Sarah used to say. He wasn’t allowed to just have coffee or a bowl of cereal on Sundays.

Once Otis was done, Joel would continue.

“And then we can make a cold lunch to pack, I’m thinking a picnic. It’s been a while since I’ve been anywhere quiet.” Joel reflected, his eyes seeking the man for any indication of his thoughts on the matter. “What do you think?”

“I done saw a pretty thing of flowers along the park trail, north outta Colter Bay, I reckon you’d like that sorta thing.” Otis replied distractedly as he added to the list. “Ain’t too far out the way neither.”

Joel almost pointed out that it wasn’t about what he wanted, but where else would be the ideal spot for a summer picnic? And if it was a private spot it would be even better.

“I’ll pack my guitar.” He decided, reaching out to brush a stray lock away from the man’s eyes.

“That’s only three things.” Otis noted.

“Work your own brain.” Joel complained. “Gotta leave an hour for… you know.” He muttered, taking another gulp of his coffee.

Otis side eyed him. “You don’t last an hour.”

Joel nearly choked on his drink. “Fuck you.”

“You will, but I ain’t writin’ that down. What if Ellie sees it?” Otis replied.

“Give me that.” Joel set his drink aside, snatching the pen.

Otis picked up his own, far sweeter, drink. “We can make it a full day thing if you want.” He suggested. “Camp out or somethin’.”

Joel’s handwriting was much neater. “Won’t Quinn get on your ass about being gone all day?” Not that he was opposed to the idea, but he felt guilty if it would cause the man stress.

“She’s got thirty other people she can bother.” Otis wasn’t exactly eager to get back to the new Marauder leader about the risky supply run through the hospital. He believed it needed more planning but Quinn was getting anxious as they moved towards the warmer months.

Wyoming was better off than most states because of its over all low population, but Jackson was incredibly far south and the inner city wasn’t exactly better than anywhere else after the outbreak.

Joel was honestly relieved he was putting things off for once. “Anything else you want to do?”

Otis couldn’t really think of anything, he actually didn’t care what they did. “You should get some rest.” The hour was really late and though coffee was counterproductive, it was obvious that Joel was tired.

“Yeah.” Joel had to agree, surrendering the pen and finishing the last of his drink before sighing and sinking into the sheets.

Otis collected the empty glass, moving to take it downstairs.

“Don’t take too long.” Joel called after him, fluffing his pillow.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: Evoke and Liberate

Joel woke up not knowing he’d even fallen asleep, hazy sunshine pulling him from the bliss of a dreamless slumber. Threads of late night conversations lurked somewhere in the back of his mind, recalling nothing in particular and yet feeling at ease.

Umber eyes fluttered open, tired but determined against losing time and so he rubbed at them with a hand, hoping to dispel sleep’s wicked sirens.

A glimpse of dried ink drew his focus, the spidery letters written on his wrist the previous day lightly smudged from careless tossing in the night.

Joel traced the pads of his fingers over the words lightly, a drowsy smile pulling at his mouth at just how terrible Otis’ handwriting was. There was something charming about the carefreeness of imperfect letters, melded together with lazy loops— and truth be told, it wasn’t entirely illegible.

Taking a deep breath, Joel pushed the blankets aside as he sat up and leaned across the man still asleep beside him to check the time. It was just a little after eight in the morning, though Joel wouldn’t have guessed considering how energised he felt.

Long work weeks usually had him exhausted and in much need of a lie-in, but something about having the day planned out made him actually want to get out of bed sooner.

First though…

“Otis.” He had to wake up the sleepy head beside him.

Judging by his change of clothes, he’d already woken up sometime before the sun rose for his daily morning run. Right now, he was buried with his head under the pillows, and only let out a soft grumble of complaint at Joel disturbing him.

Joel almost felt bad waking him up. “Wake up, c’mon.”

Otis emerged from under the pillows, hair dishevelled and still shut eyed as he readjusted himself, trying but failing to fight away his sleepiness and ultimately just face-planting the cool side of his pillow after a few seconds.

Joel almost laughed at him, pulling the blankets aside and leaning lightly against his back as he readjusted himself to sit closer. “You’re usually more of a morning person than I am.” He patted an exposed thigh, feeling it tense lightly in response.

“… ‘m gettin’ old.” Otis mumbled into the pillow, continuing to doze despite Joel’s nagging. He was actually a bit hungover from the drinks he’d had at the diner which didn’t help, but this was probably the best sleep he’d had in some weeks and he wasn’t quite so eager to abandon it.

“Need some help?” Joel offered, squeezing softly at his hamstring and earning a muffled groan for his effort. His hand slid further up, boldly venturing up his shorts toward the curve of his ass and coping another squeeze.

Otis slid an arm under the pillow as he lifted his head again, a bemused stare cast over his shoulder at Joel for the transgression.

Joel expected a scolding, feeling a warm flush creep up on him as he tried to maintain his brave facade.

“A lil’ eager for eight in the mornin’, Miller?” There was a lazy smirk pulling at scarred lips, and a deep inhalation as the man propped himself up onto his good arm, wincing slightly as he lifted his other to run his hand back through his hair.

Joel relaxed when the smirk became a tired smile, abandoning his southern adventures in favour of brushing the man’s bangs away from his face and leaning over to kiss his scarred cheek. “Who cut your hair?” He asked, bracing his arms either side of him.

“Spencer. Why?” Otis questioned, turning his head to encourage Joel to continue with the kisses.

“No reason.” Joel almost laughed at his greed for this one particular kind of affection, though endorsed it with another kiss to his cheek and then one more. “Looks good on you… I can finally see your face.”

Otis was temporarily appeased, although turned over after a moment.

Joel waited for him to settle down, disarmed by the dimpled smile that greeted him.

“What?” Otis questioned, squinting his eyes up at the man with playful suspicion when Joel’s stare lingered for a moment too long.

Joel had to pull himself back from whatever number crisis of his sexuality he was currently on, shaking his head lightly. “Nothing.” It was hard not to notice that kind of expression given how withdrawn Otis seemed the previous night.

“Come here, big boy.” Otis prompted, lifting an arm in invitation for a closer snuggle.

Joel settled on his hip before letting Otis draw him closer, feeling muscular arms squeeze gently around his ribs, hands caressing up his back and inching his vest up a little to settle against his skin. Joel buried his face into his chest, inhaling softly. The scent of fresh cotton, a fragrance that came from the detergent used in Jackson. And lavender soap, mild next to the aftershave but Joel hadn’t realised how much he missed it until now. It suited Otis, and Joel had come to associate it with him in some sort of way.

A hand came up to sift through his hair, a gentle kiss being pressed to his temple as he rested his head against the man’s good shoulder.

“Am I not heavy for you?” Joel had lost count of how many times he’d asked that question since they’d met again for the first time in nearly a decade.

Otis let out a strained laugh but squeezed Joel tighter to stop him from moving. “It’s okay, stay.” Joel’s weight was unevenly distributed since he was missing a knee to balance his weight, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“Hang on, let me just-“ Joel slid a bit lower, pushing Otis to open his legs so he could lay between them instead.

“Oi.” Otis grumbled at the invasive gesture, shifting an arm under his pillow to prop himself up a fraction while Joel settled again. “Comfy?” He asked sarcastically.

“Mhm.” Joel responded with a sigh as he rested his chin on the man’s chest, a self-satisfied smirk finding his lips as he met Otis’ gaze. “These are great-“ He complimented jokingly, squishing his pecs with greedy hands.

Otis tensed in response, a light frown appearing as his face flushed. “Sure, whatever.”

Joel was surprised by the… mild reaction. “Hey,” He pushed himself up to kiss him, bracing his hands on the bed again. “I like… every part of you.” He whispered with a soft breath of carefully chosen words.

Pale eyes dropped to Joel’s lips for a brief moment as if assessing the truthfulness of his words before rising to meet his apprehensive gaze. Whatever he found there seemed to ease his scepticism. “So you keep saying.” He dismissed, some of that playfulness from earlier returning as he relaxed between the pillows.

Joel couldn’t quite get a read on Otis, even after all this time. Did he actually bother him or was it just his natural response to getting flustered? He wanted to ask- in fact, he was dying to- but he didn’t want to ruin the mood by constantly nagging the man to open up.

Otis could see Joel working himself up to another anxious spell though. “Hey.” He prompted gently, bringing his arms around Joel’s middle and squeezing him against him. “Where did you go?”

Joel let out a sheepish laugh, more as a way to dispel his nerves. “Nowhere, I’m here.” He insisted, feeling a warm flush when a kiss was pressed to his neck.

“Really?” Otis’ voice was a warm vibration against his throat, lingering kisses drawing a sharp inhalation at the flutter they evoked in his stomach.

“Yeah. How can I be anywhere else?” Joel asked almost mindlessly as he tilted his head up to give him more room, allowing his eyes to fall shut.

Otis hummed, continuing along to the crux of his neck and pushing him gently to lay beside him. His touches remained light, not quite committing to making this more than a lazy morning cuddle.

Joel brought his hand to his chin, pushing his head up to capture his lips in a brief kiss that was followed quickly by a more sensual one, his thumb brushing along his jaw. “Open your mouth.” He whispered eagerly, pushing his tongue into his mouth shortly.

Otis was struggling to keep up with him, clumsily following the instruction despite his usual sharpness. He flinched when Joel’s tongue met his own, breaking the kiss with a turn of his head.

“You okay?” Joel kissed his cheek instead, perhaps a little apologetic that he’d pushed him so suddenly.

Otis grunted out a light assurance, exhaling a soft breath. “I’m fine, that was nice-“ His voice cracked and faded at the ended of the sentence, forcing him to clear his throat.

Joel sat up though, unconvinced. “You know you can always say no.” He reminded.

A blush rose, paired with a smile Joel could only describe as nervous. “I know, it’s not that…” The words were muttered, eyes flicking away briefly before attempting to hold his gaze but failing and dropping a moment later. “My fucking heart just hurt the way you did that.” He finally confessed in an exhaled laugh.

Joel’s chest tightened with brief concern, his mouth opening with the natural urge to question if he was alright, but Otis pecked him on the lips to shut him up. It worked, because Joel couldn’t resist the urge to kiss him some more, receiving a hot groan for his second attempt at a French kiss- the sound stirring something in him that had him grabbing at the man like he belonged to him in some personal way.

Otis almost laughed at the hand gripping his thigh, squeezing Joel’s wrist lightly to tell him to lighten up although he wouldn’t have minded the bruises on a day he wasn’t wearing shorts.

“You-“ Joel suddenly spoke with renewed energy, breaking his sentence up with sloppy kisses that were clearly an attempt at turning down the heat. “… are hard to-“ More kisses. “Let go of.” He concluded, holding his jaw to finish with a kiss to his cheek.

“So? Don’t let go, Miller.” Otis countered, ever his worst devil.

Joel almost gave in, but this is in itself was a perfect morning and there was no need to rush on intimacy. “As much as I’d like to spend the rest of the day in bed-“ He had to catch himself from saying ‘with you’, and untangled himself with a great deal of effort to scoot across back to his side of the bed so he could find his prosthesis. “First thing on the list is breakfast.”

Otis let him go, hugging a pillow under him as he turned to lie on his front. “Didn’t take you for the kind to check boxes, Miller.” His grey eyes followed Joel toward the armchair where he’d abandoned his clothes the previous night.

“Yeah, well…” Joel wanted to give a smart reply, but he knew he’d lost the moment he looked back over at him, shifting his weight onto his good leg.

Otis Meyer had no business looking as good as he did in his bed, but Joel told himself that he could resist if he ignored the most painful part of it- Otis wanted him, and that knowledge flattered him more than he cared to admit.

He forced himself to look away, finding the clock atop the nightstand instead. “You get 10 more minutes.” He decided, hating the number the minute it came out of his mouth. Maybe he should have gone for 15—

Otis was up in less than five seconds, something about the way he approached him activating Joel’s fight or flight. “Okay, good.” Otis grabbed him before he could decide which, steering him back towards the bed by the shoulders.

“Wait, is 10 minutes really enough?” Joel questioned, obediently sitting on the edge of the bed and looking up at the man now standing over him.

Otis raised a brow at him. “You know what I love about your mouth, Miller?” He asked in return, giving him a firm push backward.

Joel dropped without much resistance, grunting instinctively as his back hit the cool sheets, hands fumbling for a moment as he tried to find something for them to do. “Uh…” He settled for folding them over his stomach, doing his best not to fidget as he stared up at the ceiling. “If you’re going to say putting your… thing in it-“

Otis grabbed Joel’s leg, squeezing his calf gently. “I like how you think, but I was gonna say that it never stops movin’.” He replied, planting a knee to the side of Joel to brace himself on the bed as he lifted Joel’s leg.

Joel tensed in response, groaning as he followed the guided motion to bend his leg. “Yeah well… yours might not move as much but Jesus did you know how to get under my skin every time you opened it.” He wasn’t entirely sure what they were doing, but he could feel the pull in his hamstring the more his leg was folded closer to his torso.

“I’d be lyin’ if I said I got nothin’ outta makin’ you mad.” Otis didn’t push down on his leg, though he did shift his hand to the back of Joel’s knee, holding it there for a long moment and then prompting Joel to relax it back to the ground.

“You’re just as bad as Tess.” Joel complained, breathing a little easier in the momentary break. “She would get me worked up on purpose.”

“Can you blame her?” Otis grabbed his prosthetic leg next, repeating the motion. “Was about as much fun as I was gonna get workin’ the graveyard shift.”

“I don’t know what to tell you-“ Joel winced, overestimating his flexibility thanks to the lack of sensation in the prosthesis. “Oof- ease up a little.”

Otis shifted, relaxing his palm and gently rubbing Joel’s hip with his free hand.

Joel took a breath and then continued, appreciating the massage. His hips were definitely sore. “At least Tess got something out of it, said the… uh… action was worth it afterward. What did you get? Some sadistic pleasure?”

“Oh, you know, just somethin’ to jerk off to when I got off work.” Otis deadpanned with such a dismissive tone that it took Joel a long minute to register what he said.

“Wait, what?” Joel was so baffled that he forgot to be relieved once both legs were relaxed. “… really?” He squinted up at Otis, trying to read past his indifferent expression.

“Fuck no.” Otis rolled his eyes at him for even believing something so ridiculous. “On your side.” He instructed.

“But you do like me now?” Joel rolled onto his side, bracing subconsciously when he felt Otis’ hand at the back of his knee again. His question wasn’t a serious one, mostly just intended as teasing.

“Relax.” Otis told him in a kinder tone, squeezing his hip gently and waiting until Joel’s breathing had evened out before he’d push him to bend his leg again, applying some light pressure to his hip to keep it levelled.

Joel was quiet for a couple of minutes while he worked through the next set of stretches, up until they were done and Otis was perched just over him, his thighs either side of Joel’s sore hips.

Otis leaned over him and kissed his hair, the motion dislodging his dog tags from the collar of his tank top, their faded silver haloed by the sunshine. “I won’t say I can’t live without you,” He murmured quietly as he brushed Joel’s greying locks aside. “But I do adore the hell outta you, Miller.” And then he kissed his temple, lingering a moment before giving his arm a soft squeeze and pulling back.

A smile crinkled Joel’s sun honeyed eyes, the words washing over him like cool sea foam on a blistering shore. Relief. “You’re painfully unromantic, Meyer.” He chuckled, threading their fingers as he took his hand and squinting up at the man leaning over him.

“Am I?” An amused rumble of laughter, and a tender smile that pulled into a flirtatious smirk as he leaned closer, only just holding back the urge to kiss Joel breathless. “Well, you’re still here so I must be doing somethin’ right.” He pointed out.

“Maybe.” Joel’s smile broadened, hard to suppress even when Otis kissed him, a sweet but painfully short kiss. “Right. That should… be ten minutes.” He tried to divert himself, though his hands lingered on the man, wanting to keep him close. “Now, how about some breakfast?”

Otis considered rolling off him, but Joel had teased him long enough and so he shifted his weight back onto Joel’s hips, keeping him pinned to the bed.

Joel barely suppressed the grunt that nearly escaped at the unexpected contact to his lower body, squinting suspiciously up at Otis. “Meyer?” He questioned with playful warning.

“Yes, darlin’?” Otis smirked at him, reaching behind himself to caress up Joel’s thigh.

“What’re you doing?” Joel asked even though he knew, feeling a strange flutter at being called ‘darling’ even if he knew Otis only ever used it with the sarcastic intent.

Otis hummed in feigned contemplation, studying Joel’s expression with passive amusement. “Call it a wellness check.” He could feel every little flutter of contracting muscle against the palm of his hand as his touch crept upward, venturing boldly toward Joel’s crotch with an increasingly lighter touch, receding to just the pads of his fingers.

Joel almost forgot to breathe in his anticipation, but cleared his throat and decided to grab Otis’ wrist before he could. “I think I’m well down there.” He claimed, pulling him forward by the arm.

Otis used Joel’s grip to jerk his hand up above his head, grabbing his free wrist before he could attempt to fight him.

And just like that, Joel Miller was pinned almost too easily. “Easy there-“ He jolted a little at the jump he felt in his stomach, shutting his eyes tightly for a couple of seconds before forcing them open.

Otis was close, speaking against his ear heatedly. “You said to add it to the list.” He rumbled, leaving a lingering kiss on his neck which had him swallow hard.

“Yeah, but after-“ Joel muttered, feeling scrambled by this unexpected aggression. There was a knee on his hip, keeping him from squirming but not quite pressing down.

He felt a thumb trace over the faded ink on his inner arm, the motion almost delicate in comparison to the scalding hot lovebites now peppering his throat.

“Otis.” He complained, wincing slightly at the bruising he would no doubt find under his collar.

Otis pulled back a fraction, exhaling a soft breath as if it was taking everything not to just devour Joel. “I lied.” He reflected, releasing Joel’s hand to gently push his chin up to look at him.

Joel shuffled uncomfortably for a second, feeling almost too warm to function as he met those stormy irises. “… What?” He asked when he finally comprehended what Otis said.

Otis’ gaze softened on him drastically, a tender smile painting his scarred lips. “Maybe I can’t live without you.” He joked, teasing Joel just a little before scratching under his beard.

Joel grumbled at the teasing, flushing. “What the hell has gotten into you today?”

Otis laughed, a quiet but surprisingly light sound. “Nothing.” He dismissed, and finally moved off him completely.

Joel was left in a bit of a daze, and by the time he finally managed to collect himself enough to sit up, the bathroom door was closing.

Preparing breakfast was mostly uneventful. Joel was zoned out, allowing himself to just switch off while he went through the motions, falling into a nostalgic routine.

Strange as it seemed, he actually missed being home, even though he’d convinced himself that Jackson would feel empty with Ellie gone.

He’d missed his organised kitchen, and his owl mug, the smell of freshly brewed coffee, and his hand-picked records which played an old classic from the dining room.

Joel enjoyed his creature comforts, and he liked everything in its place.

Otis moving in hadn’t altered much. The man had little in the way of personal effects, his clothes probably being the only noticeable thing now added to Joel’s closet, but otherwise everything else could probably fit in a box— which in hindsight made it seem like he didn’t live with him.

“Otis?” Joel called, the realisation just now dawning on him.

There was no response, although the back door was open. Joel finished moving the last pancake to one of the two plates he’d made before heading for the door. “Otis, hey.” He spotted the man easily enough, leaning on the porch rail over looking the enclosed backyard where Ellie’s studio sat, now collecting dust since two months ago.

Otis turned his head to look at him, squinting against the sunlight as he took a long drag from a cigarette. “You okay?” He asked, smoke flowing from his lips as he spoke.

“You’re smoking again? I thought you quit.” Joel leaned in the doorway, crossing his arms.

Otis shrugged his good shoulder but Joel could detect something like guilt in the way his eyes skipped away from him. “Only like… seven times, but who’s countin’?”

Something had to be bothering him enough to make him start again after he’d quit for good. Joel was starting to get the same anxious feeling from the previous night. But how was he supposed to ask? What would he even ask? Otis insisted he was alright no matter how much Joel pressed.

“Breakfast’s ready.” So he didn’t, and just carried on. Joel couldn’t force him to talk to him, but maybe there was someone else he would talk to… maybe Janet Spencer- as much as the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Sorry, I meant to help… spaced out a little, I guess.” Otis apologised, stubbing out his cigarette in the lid of an old Altoid tin.

“That’s okay, not much you could’ve helped with anyway.” Joel dismissed. “Now go brush your teeth again, I’m not kissing you after you smoked.” He added.

Otis looked briefly surprised. “You were going to kiss me?”

“That’s what you got out of what I just said?” Joel asked in return, shaking his head. “How does the Doctor feel about you smoking anyway?” He shifted aside to let him in.

Otis stopped beside him, pretending to think about it. “I don’t know. She’s kinda dead, Joel, so I’m not sure I can ask her.” He countered.

Joel couldn’t bring himself to continue the banter, although Otis recognised his anxiety easily enough.

“Hey, I’ll be okay.” He promised, touching his arm gently. A subtle touch of assurance. “It’s the only pack I have.”

“Yeah… and you go through a pack a day.” Joel wasn’t convinced. There was a time Joel himself would do anything for a drink. An addict always found a way to satisfy their addiction.

Otis took a deep breath before sighing and retrieving the pack from his back pocket. “I haven’t smoked in eight years, don’t think I’ll go off the deep end.” Joel’s concern was painful because it mattered. “But,” He said with finality, pushing the pack into Joel’s hand. “If it makes you feel better, you can hold on to it for me.”

Joel took it hesitantly, not entirely sure if this was the correct way to handle things. He could just get rid of the cigarettes now that they were in his trust. “Okay. Did you take your medication?” He pocketed them for now, smoothing his flannel.

“Yeah.” Otis was about to go ahead inside but Joel blocked him lightly, pulling him towards him.

Otis was briefly caught off-guard, casting a cautious glance over his shoulder but Joel distracted him with an incessant kiss. “I thought-“

“Shut up.” Joel interrupted, and kissed him again more heatedly. The char of tobacco was there but it hadn’t yet settled in so it was… tolerable. He couldn’t quite describe what came over him, but maybe it was an attempt to establish some sort of control over his feelings- or maybe his partner’s feelings- he didn’t know and he honestly wasn’t thinking.

“Joel, we’re outside.” Otis would’ve loved to let him continue, but it was Joel who’d said he wasn’t comfortable with the idea of their relationship being made public.

Joel let out a frustrated scoff, his better devil knowing that Otis was right, but he still grabbed him by the waist- almost possessively drawing him closer.

No one would see them here, not unless they made the effort to unlock the gate or jump the fence.

Otis pushed an arm against Joel’s chest to keep at least some distance, rewarding him with a lazy smile for his effort. “Seriously, what the fuck has gotten into you?” His words were unserious in their scolding.

“You got me worked up.” Joel accused, finding a little bit of that friction from before between them, but right now it was less antagonistic and more smouldering like a fire. “So much I realise…. I almost don’t care.” His tone softened a little even though he meant to say it as a joke, and his gaze dropped to the man’s lips again.

They were both growing a little old to be worrying about anyone else, and Otis had this sort of effect on him that made him lose any sensibility he had left whenever he smiled at him like that.

And now he rolled his gorgeously cruel eyes at him, this silver-eyed devil. “All that time in the sun’s got you talkin’ funny, Miller.” He dismissed, though he was flattered by the notion regardless.

Joel could see these little, tender glimpses of peace in a man who was otherwise characterised by his violence. What Tommy said replayed in Joel’s mind a lot over the past month though. “Otis Meyer,” His hands moved to take Otis’, much more gently than the way he’d grabbed him at first. “Are you happy with me?”

Otis’ smile sobered, his eyes narrowing a fraction. There was reluctance in his gaze, and he glanced away briefly as if planning an escape from whatever this was. “What kind of question is that?” He questioned, assessing Joel’s hold. Joel hadn’t grabbed his wrist like he normally did, nor did he touch the inscription of Tess’ name on his arm- no, Joel was holding his hand and that was… unusual, intimate even.

“It’s just a question.” Joel’s tone quietened to a nervous mumble, measuring the space between them. Maybe Joel had wildly mistaken Otis’ recent slip in character as a reflection of his own feelings. Maybe everything he’d said was just more teasing that Joel had read too much into.

Otis didn’t need a love confession, but Joel’s half attempt was making it difficult to not let his heart tremors spread to his hands. “Is this about what Tommy said?” He asked, even though he didn’t need to.

Joel was an over-thinker, it was what drove his anxiety. Recognising that had made Otis especially attentive to his mood.

“Sorry, yeah.” Joel loosened his hold, attempting to laugh it off. Despite his attempts to be more considerate of the younger man, Otis was near impossible to read because he always projected irritation in moments of intense emotion. Joel didn’t think he was angry at him though, not really.

“I already told you…” Otis delicately pushed Joel’s chin up to capture his lips, a soft kiss being planted there before he drew back just a fraction. “Nobody needs to know nothin’ about me and you.” He pointed out, his gaze flickering away from Joel for just a moment as if distracted.

Joel was too swept up in the way that Otis somehow always calmed him, like he could chase away the unseen shadows of his anxiety. “Yeah,” He murmured, reminding himself to breathe before repeating with more certainty, “Yeah, I know.”

“It’s real sweet you care though.” Otis offered him a tired smile and a lazy kiss to the corner of his mouth, navigating Joel’s right hand by touch to slip his wedding band onto his ring finger.

Joel was too distracted by the sweet kisses that followed to really react, although the cool silver was hard to miss. He was just processing one thing at a time, mostly the lightness he felt, trapped in this moment.

Otis brought his arms around him, squeezing him softly into him. “I missed you, teddy bear.” He confessed with a groan of satisfaction at feeling Joel’s squishiness against his fatigued body- like the feeling of falling into bed after a long day.

Joel grumbled slightly because it was hard not to feel inferior against those biceps, but he wouldn’t be caught dead admitting he liked the security of them. “Breakfast’s getting cold.” He noted, though made no move to do anything about it.

Maybe Otis was going to be alright, as long as Joel was there with him.

They managed to get through breakfast undisturbed, but the inevitable knock came just as Joel finished packing lunch for their outing.

Halloumi cheese sandwiches, a cold steak and avocado salad with a lemon-pesto dressing, and a slap-dash attempt at a peach cobbler which reminded Joel how poor his baking skills were.

“You really should let me help you.” Otis pointed out, clipping his utility belt into place as he entered the kitchen. He’d showered again and changed into his day clothes finally. “I feel like dead weight.”

“You’re not dead weight.” Joel paused in the process of adding beer to the cooler box to look over at him. “I’ve got this. Besides, it feels good to be in my own kitchen again.” He insisted, though it was mostly because he believed Otis needed a break too.

Otis moved over to take him in his arms again. “You need to take it easy, you’ve been workin’ all week.” And stole a kiss.

Joel hummed in approval at catching the scent of lavender on the man again and turned to face him properly. “This doesn’t feel like work.” He delicately brushed his bangs from his eyes, just taking him in.

Otis squinted at him with playful suspicion. “You’re givin’ me that look again.” He accused.

“What look?” Joel feigned innocence. “You’re pretty, it’s hard not to notice.” He scoffed as if not complimenting him was an impossible task and that Otis should know better.

Otis exhaled. “And I’m gonna be pretty hard if you keep goin’.”

Joel squeezed his arm, ignoring the cheeky remark because he was distracted by the slight tightness of his t-shirt. Blue was a good colour on him, although he didn’t wear it often enough- most of his wardrobe was geared toward camo, naturally. “Did you get bigger?” They’d been apart a little while and it felt like he had to notice everything and file it away as a memory.

Otis laughed. “Spencer said I gained weight too.” He flexed in response to Joel squeezing his bicep. “I think I have a problem.”

“Don’t think so, this is a good thing.” Joel approved. “Don’t go throwing it away smoking again.”

Otis shot him an amused look for trying to boss him around even though he’d warned him against it before. “Yes, sir.”

“Seriously though, you’re ridiculously good looking. How did I not notice before?” Joel joked, just teasing.

Otis brought his arm around his neck, smothering his face into his chest as he head locked him. “Don’t push your luck, Miller.” He thought Joel was very handsome, and he was jealous of his beard.

Joel laughed and patted his back, a soft smile gracing his features as Otis’ hold softened into a hug again. This was the third time he’d hugged him today which was unusual but not unwelcome.

The knock came two minutes into this much needed cuddle, drawing them away.

“Fuck me, I hate it here sometimes.” Otis huffed, reluctantly letting him go when the second knock came. “Come back to me fast.”

“I’ll do my best.” Joel was guiltily flattered that Otis wanted to keep him all to himself for a day, but he knew it was near impossible and that all this planning was just wishful thinking.

Joel found Tommy and Maria at the door, the two of them seeming a little on edge at first glance from the window.

“Joel.” Tommy acknowledged his brother with a nervous excitement when he opened the door.

“Tommy, what’s going on?” Joel frowned slightly, confused by the energy he sensed from him.

“We’re really sorry to bother you, Joel, but we have some good news.” Maria jumped in, smiling as she moved over to hug him.

Joel was a bit taken aback since his brother’s wife was usually a little more reserved. “Hey, Maria. Good to see you.” He took her in as she stepped back. “You doing okay?” He motioned lightly in the direction of her abdomen which was a little more visible now that she’d entered her second month of pregnancy.

Maria and Tommy exchanged eager glances before the woman answered him. “Yeah, I’m managing.” The heat was unpleasant with hormones but she was doing alright as far as she was concerned. “So, Jesse just came back with the girls,” She carried on. “And Dina’s finally having the baby.”

“Is she okay?” Joel was cautiously optimistic.

Maria nodded quickly to assure him and Tommy jumped in to explain. “She’s doing good, we got her to the clinic and the doctor said she’s doing great.” He filled in. “Just thought you’d want to be there, you know, she doesn’t have much family besides you and Ellie.”

“Okay,” Joel felt like he could breathe a bit easier, but was still processing it- Dina hadn’t been due for another two weeks. “Well, yeah, I’ll come down, I guess.” He briefly looked back towards the house.

There really wasn’t much for him to do at the hospital. Labour could take hours, especially with a natural birth, but Tommy was right about Dina not having anyone. He could already picture Ellie losing her mind, and Jesse was likely not mentally prepared either.

Maria hadn’t missed Joel’s reluctance though, feeling like it was tied to more than just his normal avoidance to big gatherings. “Is Meyer here?”

Joel shuffled awkwardly, still unused to people knowing about their relationship- even if it was only his brother’s wife. “Yeah, we were… just about to head out actually.”

Maria offered an apologetic smile. “Well… I actually need to talk to him.” She admitted. “You and Tommy should go ahead, I’ll catch up with you.”

Joel felt like she’d backed him into a corner. “Okay.” He relented, then retreated a little. “I’ll just… pack some things.” Dina would likely be hungry after the fact, and she’d need a change of clothes and some extra things for comfort. He knew Dina had likely left some spare clothes over at Ellie’s studio so he would start there. “Come in if you want, there’s cold drinks in the fridge.” He invited as he headed back inside.

Tommy and Maria stayed on the porch for a couple of minutes to give him space to talk to Otis.

“Everything okay with Ellie?” Was the Marauder’s first question when Joel found him in the living room. He was reviewing a hand drawn map against an old atlas, red marker in hand to cross-reference some details for their journey.

The fact his first question was about Ellie made Joel feel guilty. Ellie was the only exception to Otis Meyer’s irritation whenever they were in Jackson. The two of them had a complicated relationship and Joel couldn’t tell if Otis tolerated Ellie for his sake or if he really didn’t mind her intrusion.

Otis looked over when Joel didn’t come up with an answer straight away. “Miller.” There was some concern there.

Joel thawed out of his temporary freeze. “Yeah, no, Ellie’s fine.” He assured, patting his pockets briefly as if searching for a clue as to why he came here. “It’s Dina actually.”

Otis raised a brow. “She okay?” He really didn’t like Dina though, which was ironic because she hadn’t crossed him like Ellie did.

“Well, Doctor says she is. She’s in labour, I’m going down to the hospital for a bit.” Joel elaborated.

Otis shuttered. “Okay.” A bit meant hours. He recapped the marker and began to fold the maps.

Joel stayed in the doorway, finding his words. “I’m sorry, Otis.”

“Don’t be.” Otis cut in, closing his journal and sliding it into his backpack which he’d left at the foot of the couch.

Joel insisted on the apology though. “I feel like I let you down again.”

Otis sighed as he walked over, running his hand back through his hair as was his habit whenever he was stressed. “It ain’t your fault. There’s always another day.” He knew it was too much to ask for Joel to be available for a whole day anyway so while he was disappointed, it wasn’t entirely unexpected.

Maybe that was part of the reason he hadn’t contributed to the planning last night, or wanted to leave bed this morning.

Still, seeing Joel agonising over it made him feel bad.

“Hey, c’mere.” He prompted, bringing his arms around him.

Joel fell into him readily, savouring these last few minutes of their peace. He didn’t know at what point this had turned into Otis comforting him instead of the other way around, but Otis seemed to do better letting Joel lean on him. “We’ll definitely go next week. Robin can handle things with the girls and I won’t need to go out to the farmhouse for a little while.” He offered with some determination.

Otis didn’t meet his enthusiasm though. “I’m out on the hospital run next week.” He reminded, pulling away.

“I thought you said Quinn could find someone else to do it-“ Joel frowned.

“It’s not quite that simple anymore.” Maria interrupted from the hallway.

Joel turned to face her. “What do you mean?”

“Hey, Otis.” Maria greeted the other man softly, reluctantly almost, before meeting Joel’s gaze. “That’s actually what I came to talk to him about. I don’t really trust Rebecca Quinn.”

Otis picked up his backpack, shouldering it. “We can talk outside.” He moved as if he would pass Joel but stopped beside him shortly, keeping his eyes on Maria.

Joel turned his head, half expecting Otis to kiss him for a split second because of just how close they were but it was a silly thought.

Otis could be intense, but he wasn’t that brazen. There was a momentary softness to his gaze when he turned his head to look at Joel, the ice melting. “I’ll see you in two hours. If you’re late, I’m comin’ to get you.” And then he moved past him without so much as a touch.

Joel flushed, hoping Maria didn’t hear but the woman didn’t stick around long, mouthing one more apology towards him as she turned to follow the man out.

“Where do you want to talk? My office?” Maria asked as she caught up to Otis.

Otis readjusted the volume dial on his radio to just about audible. “Is it gonna take more than five minutes?” He asked in return, hooking the device on the back of his belt.

“Maybe. Let’s walk.” Maria indicated, taking a breath as she slid a note out of her pocket and held it out to him.

It was a lined paper torn from her notepad, a name written in pencil visible on the over-folded scrap: Vicky Lin.

“I’ve been thinking about Hope- I mean, Ophelia.” Maria began to explain, still unused to using the girl’s real name. Up until a month ago, they’d been calling her Hope because no one knew her name until Otis found a few stragglers that survived from Martin’s Illuminated cult. “We haven’t had many children like her in some years, not without their families there to help rehabilitate them-“ She went on, pausing briefly as if expecting Otis to cut in.

Otis didn’t, inspecting the paper as they continued toward the Marauder’s place.

“Tommy said you were reading a book on speech psychology?” Maria hoped she wasn’t overstepping, but she was concerned about Ophelia more than she was trying to fix the trust she’d broken between herself and Otis. Otis was unreactive though, which probably was better than being irritable, right? “Anyway, we don’t have a child therapist in town, but we do have a social worker who has years of experience working with children from difficult backgrounds.”

Otis hummed to acknowledge he’d heard her.

“Vicky works in the Church, she does mindfulness classes mostly, but she also works with families to build stronger bonds with their kids considering… the state of the world right now.” Maria filled in, feeling a little bit lighter as they walked.

It was a beautiful day all things considered, and it had started with good news.

Otis stopped just as they came into view of the diner, hands resting on his belt as he surveyed his surroundings. The diner was still closed which meant that Janet was likely nursing a hangover. “Did you talk to Lin about the girl?” He asked, looking back to Maria after a moment.

“Not yet.” Maria admitted. “I didn’t want to do anything before getting your input, you’re her guardian.”

Otis looked annoyed at being reminded. “I’ll see how the girl feels about it.” Ophelia didn’t talk but she’d shown she could understand when he talked to her. “But no Church. More Bible thumpers is the last thing she needs.”

“Okay, well, I’m sure Vicky could arrange a home visit if Ophelia feels more comfortable there?” Maria posed it as a question out of caution.

Otis inclined his head and tucked the paper into his pocket. “I’ll find her when the girl is ready.” He seemed to pause shortly, lingering as if deciding whether to thank Maria or not. It was the polite thing to do, and this was the kind of help he was honestly stuck trying to find for the past month with limited resources— the Marauders had clinicians in certain fields, but none suited to working with children. And, in all honesty, he didn’t feel like explaining who the girl was to anyone he worked with. “Thanks… I appreciate you lookin’ out for her.”

Maria smiled. “It’s my pleasure. Let me know if there’s anything else I can help with.”

Otis turned away to continue walking. “What’s the situation with Quinn?”

“I was hoping you could tell me actually. A few of my people spotted a Marauder group on their way to the inner city QZ.” Maria told him. “They were in heavy gear so we figured they were planning to clean the place out from Infected after the Jackson Hunters jumped ship.”

“Let me guess. They made an attempt at the hospital a week in advance.” Otis didn’t sound surprised. They were called Marauders for a reason and he was well versed on his faction’s tactics.

Maria didn’t know this for a fact but Otis seemed sure of it. “… I thought you were bad, but somehow Quinn out does you.” She scoffed, hardly disguising her disdain.

“How am I the problem here?” Otis feigned offence.

Maria stopped him just before they reached the porch of the diner, holding a hand up. Any humour in her tone receded. “Look, I have no idea how Marauder politics work, I don’t know why Quinn’s word holds more power than yours or Lee’s.” She preempted. “But is this really her style? Does she always undercut her allies? I thought we were supposed to work together.” There was disgust in her tone now, though she was making an effort to hold it back because it wasn’t directed at the man opposite her.

Otis was many things but he always kept his word and repaid favours- something Maria hadn’t banked on very much until now.

The man crossed his arms, shifting his weight as he regarded her. “I don’t have any power to overturn her orders, Maria. I told you that.” He reminded. “Quinn’s only keepin’ me around ‘cuz she thinks I’m still useful.” He was disposable and they both knew he’d lose a popularity contest to her easily- not that he was gunning for leadership anyway, he’d had his fill of that already.

Maria didn’t know what she was expecting from him in truth, but she’d been hoping he could offer some assurance that Quinn could be talked down. “I can’t believe this. She rolled in on the Illuminated and now she thinks she runs Jackson.” She huffed.

Otis raised a brow briefly, somewhat amused to discover Maria had a territorial streak. It was a good thing. “The agreement was that they’d stay north of the State.”

“I know what the agreement was, but this wasn’t a one-off. Patrol reports have seen a few squads, their excuse is always that they’re keeping the Hunters in check or helping us clear Infected- as if we can’t handle ourselves.” The woman scoffed, but caught herself before she could turn it into a tangent. “Look, Otis, I know it’s a lot to ask, but I need you with me on this. We both need this hospital run, but I have a feeling Quinn’s going to try and pull some nonsense about providing the manpower as an excuse to take a majority of the supplies.” Maria’s gaze hardened as she moved closer, her blue eyes imploring him.

Otis knew what kind of woman Rebecca Quinn was, she was cutthroat and an opportunist. Crossing her was a dangerous game to play, and he doubted Maria would be able to rise to the challenge of proving herself her equal.

Maria was too nice, though she was likely more than aware of that flaw by now— considering what happened with the Salt Lake Crew and the Illuminated. That was likely the only reason she was asking for his help.

“If you want Quinn to back off, you’re going to have to show her she can’t walk all over you.” He told the woman. “Quinn’s in a bad place, her group have been desperate for supplies and they lost a lot of people last summer, that’s why she’s dyin’ to prove herself.” Medical supplies were worth their weight in gold, metaphorically speaking.

“Yeah, well, she can find some other way to make up for her bad leadership. We got her that information about the hospital, and we gave her group supplies until they got back up on their feet again.” Maria pointed out. “Whatever happened to not biting the hand that feeds you?”

Otis exhaled a dry laugh. “Good people always lose, Mrs Miller. The Hunters knew that, and the Salvagers did too. That’s why they survived as long as they did.”

“Yeah, and look where they both are.” Maria refused to believe in anything other than karma. She was going to be the best person she could be because that’s who her father raised her to be. She refused to stoop down to Quinn’s level, but that didn’t mean she would just turn the other cheek.

“I ain’t sayin’ they’re right.” Otis dismissed. “The only good thing about Quinn is she has lines she won’t cross, mostly ‘cuz it wouldn’t do her image any favours and she’s the proud sort.”

“Okay.” Maria squinted slightly, trying to decipher what hints she might get from this. “If I get a group together, she can’t claim her people did all the work, right?” She’d already figured that much out on her own.

Otis was still surprised she offered though. Maria was a protector, and high risk-high reward was more his play style than hers— but she was adaptable and strong headed, that was probably the only reason she’d earned his respect at first meeting.

“Whoever you choose, make sure they know their way ‘round a gun and the Infected. Nervous triggers are the last thing anybody needs out there.” He cautioned.

“Tommy’s already offered to go-“ Maria began but Otis shut her down immediately.

“Fuck, no.”

Maria was caught off-guard by the immediate refusal. “Why not? Tommy was a Firefly, he’s practically ex-military.”

“The Fireflies were a bunch of amateurs-“ He massaged his temple, sighing before he could start an argument about something different. “I get it. Puttin’ Tommy at the forefront of this shows Quinn you mean business, but if I remember right, you told Joel it takes one fuck up to make you a widow and I ain’t havin’ that on me when I’m out there.” He indicated.

Maria’s lips pressed into a firm line. “Don’t you think I know that?” She didn’t want to argue with Otis, but she was trying to step up. “Mel’s hardly better and you’re taking her out there. At least Tommy won’t freeze on you.”

“That’s different. I wouldn’t take Mel if I didn’t have to.” Otis countered, looking up towards the third floor window where his old room was. “… I’m taking Abby too.”

“Are you out of your mind? She’ll try to kill you.” Maria frowned.

“She can try, but I ain’t leavin’ her here, not after last time.” Last time Otis was gone for more than a day, Owen Moore had escaped and nearly got Otto killed. “… I’ll take Tommy along, only if you don’t have any better options for me.” He relented.

“I wish I could say I did.” Maria didn’t really want Tommy out there either, she preferred having him close where she knew he was safe, but it wasn’t like she could ask Joel and she was worried that she was suffocating Tommy with her anxiety over his wellbeing. “I’ll keep working on it, just let me know if anything else comes to mind.” She began to turn away but Otis called her back.

“Maria.”

“Yes?” She turned back reluctantly.

Otis studied her for a long minute before finally asking. “You still got Dominique’s journal?”

Maria stopped herself short of huffing. The last time she’d tried to give it to him, he’d managed to throw the pages all over her porch. “I do.” She rubbed her hands together, shifting her weight. “You’re more than welcome to come get it.”

“It’s not for me.” Otis didn’t really want to read it. “Only thing Berko has left of her.”

Maria’s irritation turned to confusion. “You sure you want him to read it?”

Otis shook his head, squinting slightly against the glare of the sun. “I would’ve burned it, but that’s not my call.”

Maria brought her hands under her stomach as she moved closer, lowering her voice to speak gently. “I can… honestly only imagine how you feel towards him being here. How… you probably feel about that journal turning up with everything written in it…” She still wanted to offer help, even if it was just a bit of kindness. Dominique’s diary was a good thing as far as Maria was concerned, it exonerated Otis, but it also spoke secrets that weren’t Dominique’s to share. “Everything she wrote about you though…” It was just one long love letter as Tommy had put it.

The man’s gaze was distant, staring through her instead of at her. He probably knew, but it was wrong and unreciprocated.

Maria sighed. “I hope Jackson’s the break you need, I never thought I’d say I’m glad you’re here, but...” She closed the topic with a kind smile and nod.

Otis blinked, looking away from her with a huff. He was tired of her and Tommy’s kindness but it was hard to be angry at someone who wished you well, earnestly. “You and Tommy fucking deserve each other.” She reminded him of Layla, that’s probably why she frustrated him.

Maria scoffed, offended for a split second. “You can talk. You and Joel are a match made in hell, but I had money on it.”

“Money. Really?” He raised a slit brow at her, resting his hand on his belt again.

“I have a good eye for people.” Maria bragged briefly and then pointed a finger at him. “And I bet you have stories about the Miller brothers from back in the day which I would love to hear, as your kind of sister-in-law.”

Otis shrugged. “Nothin’ Tommy hasn’t already told you, I’m sure.”

“Not an excuse. I’m inviting you guys over for dinner, we’ll make it a double date.” She pushed boldly. “Bring something sweet or sour, I’d kill for a rhubarb pie.” She motioned her stomach to make the point.

Otis lifted his head up at her in challenge. “Did Tommy put you up to this?” The man had been meddling and putting ideas in Joel’s head about making their relationship public for the last two months.

“Maybe.” Maria feigned ignorance, but it was one way of balancing Joel’s romantic side with his private nature- Maria and Tommy already knew so there was nothing to hide.

“Yeah, I don’t do dinner.” Otis declined, mostly because he hated the idea of changing anything out of the norm.

“You don’t get to refuse. I already told Tommy to invite Joel, me telling you is just a courtesy.” Maria refused to accept his reply, turning to saunter back up the path through the beer garden.

Otis opened his mouth to protest but gave up shortly, grumbling as he turned to head into the diner.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: Smudged

Otis found Janet sitting at the bar alone, a half eaten bowl of ice cream left to melt in front of her with obvious regret at the poor choice of breakfast. “Spencer?”

Janet turned her head to look at him with obvious exertion, her hair unkempt and lazily pulled back into a messy bun. She was still wearing her dress from last night, and there were dark smudges of eyeliner that had been washed but not properly removed. “Hi, Otis.” She greeted with a soft sigh, lightly pushing the bowl in front of her.

Otis moved over, retrieving a bottle of seltzer from the fridge under the bar on the other side of the counter before pouring her a glass.

“Thanks.” She croaked, sniffling lightly as she took a big gulp, clearly dehydrated. It was obvious that she’d made no effort to help herself against the hangover she was suffering. The woman sighed in relief once her tongue felt less like sandpaper, then set the glass on the coaster, drumming manicured nails against the side of it.

“Did you eat?” Otis asked.

“Yeah- some left over pizza Otto saved for me.” Which wasn’t enough. “Don’t worry, Esther came by, she’s fixing me some breakfast right now.” She indicated lightly towards the saloon doors leading into the kitchen.

“Kids still sleeping?” Otis pulled a stool to join her, pouring out a glass for himself. It was tempting to get a real drink to build up some courage before he spoke to Ophelia, but that wouldn’t be such a good idea considering his father’s propensity for reeking of alcohol.

He told himself he’d never drink in front of a child but recently he’d been slipping.

“Mm, not yet,” Janet mumbled. “Kumi said he’ll pick Otto up in a bit to take him out for the day so I let him sleep in.” She massaged her temples and shut her eyes, feeling like the soft din of cutlery and pots in the kitchen was right inside her skull even though it was far away. “Fuck, how did I ever do this in my twenties?” She’d never been much of a drinker though in all fairness.

“You obviously had a good night.” Otis remarked sarcastically, leaning his cheek against the cool knuckles of his metal plated glove.

“I shouldn’t have listened to you,” Janet huffed. “It sucked.”

Otis watched her from his peripheral, mostly on edge about having a stranger in the kitchen. “That bad, huh?” Then again, Esther wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to him, and it was a good thing that Janet had someone else looking out for her.

“Worse. I basically got called a slut.” Janet complained.

“ Basically ?” Otis would likely stomp somebody if she just gave him a name.

“Okay- not basically but impliedly.” She diffused. “This guy was eyeing me up all night but said he didn’t take women home on the first date.” Janet wanted breakfast more than revenge right now, her stomach rumbling just at the smell of butter heating in the pan.

Sautéed onions always smelled divine when she was hungry.

“Ain’t that a good thing?” Otis was confused how she correlated the two. “I thought you wanted a steady relationship.”

“I wanted to get my back blown out.” She corrected. “I’m not going to… lie to myself and say I’m ready to meet the love of my life right now.” She huffed, her tone stroppy but ultimately resigned. “I wanted to have fun, I wasted enough time looking after everyone but me.”

Otis hummed, raising his glass in toast to that sentiment and taking a sip before responding more sensibly. “It’s your first time gettin’ to know somebody new, maybe you’ll find a better match.” He was trying to be supportive and Janet didn’t know if that annoyed or eased her.

She doubted she’d find the perfect match because he was sitting beside her, but maybe a better match than Lewis was still possible. “You’re probably right.” She relented, tucking her loose locks behind her ears as she turned to face him. “Wish I had me a grizzly teddy bear to take me to bed.”

Otis blinked, opened his mouth to respond, lagged in processing what she was implying, then promptly shut his mouth— was Janet envying him over Joel Miller?

Janet studied his reaction for a moment, laughing as she set a hand on his arm and squeezed softly. “You didn’t get laid, did you?” It wasn’t really a question.

Otis scoffed, stuck on how to respond for a second longer before flatly countering with a weak, “Neither did you.” And glaring down into his cup to disguise his fluster. “If you’re feelin’ better, go wake the girl up.”

Janet’s laughter bubbled and she gave him a half hug in sympathy. “I bet you didn’t even ask, I doubt even Miller could say no to you.” The woman stood up from her seat, sliding her dress off her shoulders and shimmying it down slightly so she could reach the zip. “Whatever though. You can wake your sister up, and you can get her washed and dressed for the day.” She refused to ruin the rest of her morning chasing the gremlin around. “I’m going to take a long hot bath, read a book and have a glass of wine. Maybe a bottle.”

Otis fixed her with a long stare as if to asses whether she was serious or not.

Janet patted him on the shoulder then turned to indicate her back. “Now help me get out of this dress.”

“Is this why you didn’t change last night?” He asked, carefully untangling her necklace from her hair before pulling her zipper down a sensible amount.

“Of course-“ Janet exhaled as she was finally freed from what began to feel like a corset of death bruising her ribcage. “Remind me to never wear a dress again.”

“You looked good last night. This morning you look like you woke up in a trash can.” Otis replied without much thought, or maybe he was getting her back for teasing him.

“You’re a fucking jerk.” Janet would’ve smacked him if she wasn’t so busy unclipping her bra as she walked away, pausing short at the bottom of the stairs. “… did I really look good?” She asked.

Otis raised a brow at her.

“Okay.” She knew she was pushing her luck, but affirmations were her love language and it only meant more to her as she grew older- everyone liked a compliment. “But you should tell Joel he looks good too, maybe you’ll actually get some-“

“Fuck off, Spencer.” He rolled his eyes at her.

“I’m serious!” She insisted. “Just because you hate compliments doesn’t mean everybody else does. It would mean more to him than you probably think.” She added, glancing over her shoulder when she heard the front door. “And that’s my cue.” She skittered away.

Otis felt like he could breathe again in the quiet, somehow feeling like he’d forgotten how to relax around other people. He finished his glass then leaned his arms on the counter, resting his head atop them for a couple of minutes while rolling the glass in his hand idly. As much as he hated talking about anything remotely intimate with anyone other than his partner, Janet was probably right— Joel had likely only been messing around when he said that Otis was unromantic, but it wasn’t just a passing observation.

Joel had wanted to relax and spend time together last evening, but Otis had wanted to do more than just kiss him a little. Otis had no idea how to organise an evening that Joel would actually enjoy without sex being the main focus, which often meant Otis overcompensated by hyper-focusing on Joel’s needs and feeling restless if Joel tried to return the favour by giving him attention.

Thinking about sex wasn’t helping. When did he start craving something like this? He’d missed Joel, not for that reason though, but it would probably be helpful if he told him that instead of assuming Joel knew.

It wasn’t like he didn’t try—

Otis’ complicated peace lasted only briefly, his gaze finding his watch to check the time. Just a little under two hours until his promise to find Joel. He couldn’t just sit here.

Esther appeared from the kitchen just as he pushed himself to get up, an awkward pause as the woman hovered uncertainly with a breakfast plate. “… Meyer, right?” She offered a polite smile as she moved to set the plate on the counter.

“Ma’am.” He gave a light nod of greeting, readjusting the strap of his gloves.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you around,” She dusted her hands on the front of her borrowed gingham apron before offering one for a shake. “You might not remember me, I’m Esther, Mike’s wife.” She introduced herself.

Otis took her hand, not really sure how firmly to shake it. It had been a while since he’d interacted with a civilian. “I remember. You left your rosary at my bedside, been meanin’ to give it back to you.” He admitted.

The last time he’d seen Esther, she’d visited him at the hospital after he’d woken up from being comatose. She’d left a Bible and a rosary behind, while Robin had brought a tea blend she said would help his heart- maybe he should ask her about that- why was he so distracted today?

“That’s alright.” Esther held his hand for a second too long for his comfort, prompting him to pull it free. Maybe it was unintentional though because she carried on like nothing happened, seeming to linger as if she had something to ask.

Otis crossed his arms, feeling strangely on edge. He didn’t like her and he didn’t know why. Esther was older than him, her dress sense a little outdated, but maybe it was the cross at her neck and the rouged lips. Familiar but not quite the same. He couldn’t quite recover the memory- didn’t want to.

“I hope I’m not making a nuisance of myself,” Esther said by way of apology as she rubbed her hands. “I was just worried about Janet, thought I’d check in before I head to the Church.”

“I’m grateful you’re lookin’ out for her.” Otis took a step back, an indication that he had to go but there was something he wanted to know more about. “Do you work at the Church?”

Esther’s smile warmed. She worked with enough people to read them comfortably, and for a minute there she worried that Otis disliked her for some reason. “I wouldn’t call it work but I help organise events for the community so I’m down there often.” She worked helping newcomers get integrated into Jackson mostly.

Otis grunted in acknowledgement of her answer, though he didn’t really meet her gaze. “I don’t suppose you’d know anythin’ about a Vicky Lin?”

“Vicky’s great.” Esther was just glad to help. “Are you interested in her classes? She does week days, I think I have a flyer-“ She moved to retrieve her bag from the stool where she’d left it when she’d come in.

Otis didn’t really get a chance to say no before she pulled out the colourful paper, taking it uncertainly. “I was actually hopin’ you’d tell me what kind of person she is.” Not what she did, Maria had already told him that.

Esther paused, confusion evident in her blank expression and then she let out an embarrassed laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry, you meant-“ She gestured vaguely before laughing again and then catching herself. “She’s a good girl, a real hard worker, don’t let her appearance scare you, she’s got a heart of gold.”

Otis tried not to be frustrated at the unhelpful description, jaw hardening as he squinted at the flyer in his hand.

“She’s not had a boyfriend in sometime, bad break up, poor thing. He didn’t deserve her but I hear good things about you, and I’m sure you’re just her type.” Esther continued but he’d stopped listening about two words in until she stepped closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I’ll put in a good word for you.”

Otis finally lifted his gaze to the woman, grimacing. “Thanks, I guess?” He took a moment to comprehend what she was implying but by the time he’d realised, Esther was already making her way to the door. “No, wait-“

“Have a nice day!” She spoke over him. “And tell Janet to eat while the food is still warm!” The door shut behind her, leaving Otis alone in the lounge.

“Fuck.” He cursed and turned to head upstairs.

Otis knocked on the door to Ophelia’s room, waiting for a couple of minutes before trying again. “Ophelia, you up?” He asked when there was no response.

Still, he waited.

Janet would emerge from the adjacent room, wrapped in her bathrobe. “You should just go in, she never answers.” She advised.

“I can’t just go in, it’s a girl’s room-“ Otis protested.

Janet huffed, moving over and nudging him aside to turn the handle herself. “She’s your sister.” She reminded with a sigh, leaning in the doorway. “Ophelia, time to wake up.”

The girl wasn’t in her bed but she was behind it, peering at them from the safety of the other side.

Janet seemed surprised to find her there, but tried not to let on that this was unusual behaviour in light of the recent improvement in her skittish nature. She’d started sleeping in her bed instead of under it about a month ago, but now she was hiding. “You’re already up, good.” Maybe because she heard Otis’ voice. She didn’t hide from Fenton or Otto.

Janet walked in, heading for the window to open the curtains and regretting her decision when bright daylight spilled in, making her headache resurface.

Otis stayed by the door, reluctantly taking the space in.

It had been Otto’s room not that long ago, although with Sahil moving permanently to join his parents at the Marauder camp up north, Otto had taken his room since it was bigger and Janet had Ophelia moved in here so she could be nearby in case the girl needed her.

Jungle themed wallpaper had been stripped, patches of white from the primer left behind on the otherwise dull grey plaster. There was an oak wardrobe which didn’t match the pine frame of the bed, and there were still staples in the bare floorboards from the carpet being taken out.

The state of the room was depressing, nothing even remotely personal about it save for the smudged pencil marks on the door frame which had been used to measure Otto’s height over the past year.

“Come on, freshen up and get dressed.” Janet opened the wardrobe to look through it for something suitable for Ophelia to wear on a day like this. They were short on girl clothes, and most of her wardrobe was just Otto’s old clothes that he’d grown out of. They worked just fine since Ophelia was petite despite being older than the boy, and Janet hadn’t really had the chance to take her shopping or get her clothes.

Ophelia remained frozen, ducking in the corner, one hand clutching her pillow as if ready to throw it at anyone who threatened her security. She was watching Otis warily, not sure why the man was invading her personal sanctuary- even if he was just at the door.

This was not routine, and that made it something stressful to her.

“Otis, I know it’s a lot to ask,” Janet’s voice was slightly muffled as she continued to look through the wardrobe. “But do you think you could pick some summer dresses for her while you’re out? I haven’t really had the chance and I feel awful sending her outside in these.” She emerged holding a camo print pair of shorts, her expression reflecting her displeasure.

The girl needed more than just a couple of dresses though, but Otis was damn ashamed that it had taken him actually seeing her room to realise it.

He’d never even once asked if she needed anything since bringing her here, maybe assuming that Janet would tell him if she did.

Janet turned to look at him when she didn’t get a response, taking a breath before moving over to Ophelia and pushing the clothes into her arms. “Go on now, and brush your teeth properly.”

Ophelia stood up to take the clothes but looked up at Janet with clear upset.

“What’s wrong?” Janet asked, hoping she wouldn’t devolve into a fit. The first three weeks or so of her living here, Janet had a near automatic headache any time she interacted with the girl. Anything that even remotely upset Ophelia resulted in a tantrum, which was crying at best, and shouting and breaking things at worst, until she got her way. She’d calmed down significantly since, mostly because she’d learned that Janet wasn’t going to hurt her or force her to do things the way her father or mother did. “You’re going to go outside for a bit with your brother-“

Ophelia shook her head vehemently, her eyes imploring Janet not to send her away.

“Ophelia-“ Janet tried not to be frustrated with her, taking a second before moving to sit on the bed so she was more eye level with the girl. “You need some new clothes, don’t you want some pretty dresses?” She tried to reason.

Ophelia frowned, lowering her head in shame because she felt like she was disappointing the woman. She’d shake her head though- she wasn’t ready to go anywhere where there were even more people she didn’t know, with someone she didn’t know that well.

“It won’t be that bad, Otis will get you everything you want, some new toys as well. Wouldn’t you like that?” Janet’s tone only softened more. As much as she complained about Ophelia’s behaviour, she knew it wasn’t her fault. This was a child who had been severely traumatised, and the way Janet saw it, this was her only chance at healing even remotely from the terrible things she’d seen and endured.

Janet wanted to help her, even if this wasn’t what she’d wanted to be doing at this late stage in her own life.

Ophelia shook her head again but more subtly, reluctant as if she expected Janet might get fed up with her stubbornness and lash out.

Janet looked over her shoulder at Otis, a quiet request for help.

Otis wasn’t sure how much difference his involvement was going to make when it was obvious the girl was terrified of him. He moved over though because it was unfair to let Janet handle everything. The woman wanted one day off and that really was very little to ask considering how much she’d shouldered alone the past few months.

“Hey.” He stopped at the foot of the bed, giving Ophelia plenty of room.

Ophelia shuffled ever so slightly closer to Janet, hugging the bundle of clothes in her arms tighter. It wasn’t like she hadn’t spent any time with Otis, but she’d never been with him alone- not even when she’d first been picked up by him and Joel.

Otis squatted down, his tone not quite delicate but quieter than usual which enunciated its rasp. “I know you don’t want to leave, and I know you don’t like me…” Being gentle was hard, and there was no point pretending.

Ophelia refused to look at him directly, glaring downward, resentful but punished for displaying her anger too many times in the past to brave making eye contact.

Otis wanted to tell her that it was okay, but it really wasn’t. Nothing about this was okay. It was a fucked up situation and it was unfair for them both. He looked away from her after a moment, his eyes clouded as they found Janet.

Janet had never seen him struggle like this before. Otis Meyer was intimidating to most people because he was difficult to unnerve, cold and calculating. Right now though, he was scared of a little girl and that made Janet’s heart ache.

Janet didn’t know what John Ackerman did, but she almost didn’t want to know for fear of what it would do to her idea of Otis Meyer. “You two will get along.” She tried to assure, reaching over to gently nudge his chin, her thumb caressing his cheek gently.

Otis shied away from her touch, huffing softly. “Get dressed.” He told the girl, dismissing her like a troop.

Ophelia clutched the clothing in her arms more tightly but needed only a soft smile from Janet to pad away to the bathroom. Resentful maybe, but she seemed to listen to him at least.

Maybe she knew what he’d done.

Otis waited until he heard the soft click of the bathroom door before pushing himself up to sit beside Janet.

“I know you don’t hate her.” Janet remarked quietly, setting a hand on his arm as she turned herself sideways to face him. “But she’ll grow up to resent you if you take out what your father did on her-“

“The hell I am.” Otis cut in firmly, a resentful glare thrown at the floor between his boots.

Janet flinched slightly, unused to that tone from him, though it stoked her irritation a little. She tried to be reasonable, Lord knew he’d been patient with her through her outbursts, and Otis never raised his voice at her regardless. She took a breath and gingerly reached for his hand, a frail tremor shaking her fingers as they touched the cold steel of the plating over his knuckles. “Otis,” She tried again more gently. “I don’t know what you’re going through, you won’t talk to me-” She implored him as she moved a fraction closer, tucking some loose locks behind her ear as she inclined her head, hoping he’d meet her gaze. “You never tell me anything, but I want to help. Please, just… you don’t have to talk about it with me, just let me be there for you.”

“I’m fine.” Those words were numb and if Janet wasn’t so desperate to make up for the last few years, she might have allowed him to dismiss her as he’d always done.

“… Did you agree to this just because I asked you to?” Janet’s tone softened, reluctant to scold a grown man like a kid. She couldn’t force him to open up to her, and that wasn’t what she wanted to do anyway- she was just afraid that she’d made him do something that would ultimately result in him resenting her.

“She’s my sister.” Pale eyes turned to Janet’s hand resting over his own, studying her manicured nails and swollen joints. When she’d first touched him, her hands had been softer, uncalloused almost. “I wouldn’t throw her, I can’t.” His words were a tired murmur, lost in recollection.

Time had aged them both unkindly.

“You believe him about her?” Janet shimmied closer, bringing an arm around his back and resting her chin on his shoulder.

Things seemed so quiet up here, peaceful for the first time in… maybe forever.

Otis scoffed, a mirthless, uncommitted exhalation that might have been a laugh if he’d had the energy. “John Ackerman only ever tells the truth to cut my fucking wrists with it.”

Janet turned his hand over in hers, her worn eyes studying the raised veins there and the old burn scars from cigarettes cruelly put out against his skin. “Ophelia has these as well.” She had a suspicion she knew why Otis avoided the girl in a way that he hadn’t even avoided Otto Okoro all those years ago. “On the back of her knees though.”

Otis didn’t want to know. Not really.

“The nurse says she’s… okay otherwise.” Janet tried to put it delicately, picking words with more care than she’d ever cared to do. She was a sharp tongued woman, unapologetic in being heard usually. “I took her there after I saw Marke. I was scared that bastard might’ve…”

“Stop.” Otis interrupted, pulling his hand from hers to rub his face. “… please, my chest hurts.” His words were barely above a whisper, a hand held to his brow as though intending to hide his shame.

Janet rubbed his back, her now free hand moving to massage his shoulder as she kissed it in apology. “I just wanted you to know. She’s going to be okay.”

Otis couldn’t say anything for the longest time for how tight his throat felt, choked on an emotion that was both relief and fear and nausea— he bit his hand to swallow it down, feeling a sharp pain shoot through his injured arm that was far more welcome.

It was enough for the moment to remind him to breathe, swallowing hard to get rid of the lump in his throat. “I don’t know…” His voice still cracked, fading as he took a shaky inhalation, his hand gripping his necklace as tightly as he dared without further crushing the cheap nickel Firefly pendant slotted next to his dog tags. “I don’t know if I can do it all over again.” Losing his brother had destroyed half of his soul and he had no more to give. “I tried so hard…”

Janet couldn’t stand hearing him struggle like this, even though he’d never shed a tear, her eyes were brimming with them. “I know.” She brought her arms around him and squeezed as tightly as she could until her arthritic joints ached. “It’s not your fault.”

Otis wished those words would justify any of the hurt, but he always shut down, even now he couldn’t move himself to be anything other than exhausted from this thing that had gripped him his entire life- from his father’s rotten shadow that lurked even after his death, now plaguing him in the haunted eyes of a little girl who was also just a victim.

Ophelia’s eyes were his eyes.

“It’s not your fault.” Janet repeated, her breath wet and warm on his neck as she lost against her tears. “It’s not your fault and it’s not her fault. You’re a better man than he could ever dream to be, and Ophelia will grow up and she’ll get past this too,” That’s what she desperately wanted to believe and see true. “You’ll see.” She drew back to look at him, searching him for any sign that he would take her words to heart.

Otis was empty though, distant even though he was in her arms. “I hurt people, Janet.” His words were almost terrifyingly calm, dropping to a rasped whisper that made her stomach flutter with confused arousal. “And I enjoy it-“

Janet silenced him by crushing her mouth against his, nearly choking him with her sudden grip on his throat, and rousing a groaned protest.

Otis tried to turn his head away from her. “Spencer, what the fuck-“ A breathless half protest before he found her tongue in his mouth again, and this time he didn’t hold back his instinct to push her. His hand grabbed her jaw, shoving her away from him as he struggled to escape, standing despite the lightheadedness that crept up on him. “Have you lost your mind?” There was blood on his lips, spilling hot from where she’d bit him, though he’d hardly noticed because he was burning with humiliation.

Janet wiped the crimson from her own mouth, stammering out an apology. “I’m sorry, you just grabbed me-“ The moment when her mistake dawned on her was visible in the alarm that painted her expression. She opened her mouth to explain, or excuse her actions, but floundered.

He wasn’t angry at her because she’d accidentally hurt him. “Otis-“ She stood quickly, readjusting her robe. “I’m sorry, I thought-“ She didn’t know what she’d thought in all honesty.

“What did you fucking think?” Otis snapped against his better judgement. On any other day he might have been patient, understanding, ignored it because she had an ailment—

Janet flinched from his raised voice, unable to explain because the tears came on fast.

Otis immediately lowered his voice, but it was instinct more than consideration for her. “We’re done.” He only just remembered that he was supposed to wait for Ophelia, but a restless half-pace was all he could tolerate before he stormed out.

Anger was bad for him, he didn’t know what to do with it—

Otis nearly slammed into Marke on his way out of the room, the young man skittering just narrowly out of his way.

“Watch where you’re fucking going!” Marke was bad at knowing when to back off, glowering at the man who towered over him.

Otis wasn’t in the mood for his attitude today though and had half a mind to floor him to teach him a lesson. The abnormality of Marke’s presence in the Marauder’s place though temporarily overrode the urge, and he stopped short.

Marke felt like a cornered rabbit, taking a step back when Otis turned on him. He glared defiantly still, holding on to his usual bravado that had lost him teeth in the past, stubborn as he was.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Otis questioned.

Marke did his best not to stammer his response, doing a poor job of hiding something behind his back. “I came to see Fenton.” He was lying, Otis knew he was.

“Fenton isn’t here.” Otis looked like he might grab him by the throat if he didn’t start talking, but he grabbed his arm instead, forcing him to show his hand as he jerked him closer. “But you already know that.”

“Fuck you, let go of me!” Marke raised his voice, struggling to pull his arm away but was ultimately forced to show his hand. “I’ll scream!”

Otis took a minute to identify what Marke had stolen, shoving the young man against the wall. “Stay.” He warned, pinning him with his gaze as he took the item.

Marke glared at him but his sense of self-preservation won out in the end and he stayed exactly there.

Otis recognised what appeared to be a lipstick tube, specifically the lipstick Janet had picked out when they’d passed through a shopping high street about a year and a half ago. Covered in Infected gore and winded from the fight, both of them, and Janet had decided to distract Dorothy with a makeover. It wasn’t any good after sitting in a dusty shop for two decades but Dorothy liked the colour and Janet insisted she’d keep it until she could find the ingredients to fix her one just like it.

“It’s mine.” Marke insisted. “Janet gave it to me.”

“The fuck she did.” Otis shoved him towards the stairs. “Walk.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 7: Self Preservation

Lewis and Bill reached the bar at the same time, each man trying to get the tender’s attention.

“You go first.” Lewis quirked a polite smile and inclined his head in greeting to the survivalist, hoping perhaps to make a friendly first impression on a new face.

Bill didn’t seem to take it as kindness though, stooping his head to grab his bucket hat as if he’d only just noticed how dim the lights were indoors. “It’s like a fucking 80s saloon in here.” He grumbled to himself, motioning vaguely for Lewis to continue as he eased himself into an empty stool. Sweat glistened on his age-lined brow, though it had little to do with the weather and more to do with the nerves of being in a diner full of people who- to him- laughed and talked far too loud.

Jackson was too busy for a man who’d spent the last twenty five years hiding from other people.

“I think that’s the point.” The woman behind the counter was a new face to Lewis too, though her attitude was enough to suggest where she’d come from. A Marauder who’d wormed her way into Jackson, her name was Alisha, and she wore her braids loose, wooden beads clacking like music notes as she navigated the busy job of tending the bar. “What’re you guys drinking today?” She figured asking would get Bill and Lewis out of her face faster since she had no time for small talk— Fenton Warren was supposed to help her whenever Janet wasn’t available, but the young man hadn’t shown up to help her open so she was swamped.

“Nothing.” Bill didn’t trust anything that anybody poured for him.

“It’s on the house, sir.” Lewis interrupted, inviting himself to the stool beside Bill without asking. “Get us a dark rum each, would you, madam?” He requested.

“Only if it’s a closed bottle.” Bill added, making no effort to disguise his annoyance.

Alisha raised her brows at him incredulously. “It’s the fucking apocalypse, everything here’s open.” She pointed out, and then looked briefly behind her at the rows of bottles as if to confirm she’d not missed something. “Unless you like Malört?” Her neatly trimmed nails tapped the faded label.

Bill couldn’t even begin to guess what the hell a Malört might be. It sounded unnecessarily expensive- though truth be told, most drinks did to a man who only ever ordered whatever was on tap before the world ended. “I’ll take it.” A drink was much needed right now though, because his knuckles were white from how tightly he was holding his cap, trying to ignore the feeling of being a live grenade with a pin about to be pulled.

“Okay.” Alisha seemed amused, shrugging as she took the bottle and found a glass for him.

Lewis finally seemed to get to the point, and only after having a big long inspection of the busy dining space, “I heard Miss Janet Spencer lives here. I wouldn’t be wrong, would I?” He asked.

“You’re not wrong, she does live here.” Alisha replied. “Haven’t seen her all morning though and I’m not in the business of passing messages along.” She wasn’t allowed upstairs, maybe Meyer was too cautious about her intentions, though he was right to be.

Quinn set her up in the best place for news, where alcohol flowed and tongues were loose. Jackson was almost too normal though, and most people’s complaints were about leaking roofs or starchy fabrics, the kids being noisy or kicking a ball into windows— or some other painfully mundane thing. Alisha didn’t recall if she’d ever heard anything like this while stationed at QZs, or if she’d ever seen something as removed from everything she knew. It felt to her as if Jackson had been cut from the progression of time one hour before the rest of the world ended, keeping it unchanged and untouched by the madness simply by secreting it away behind walls and some hills.

The way that a piece of the ocean was said to be trapped inside a conch shell, but Alisha had never seen the sea in person.

Alisha and her twin sister, Kiara, had been born exactly at that time- one hour before outbreak day was officially recognised. So, truthfully, she knew nothing of the old world except what her parents told her, or what she saw in movies or read in books.

Lewis seemed a bit flustered by Alisha’s response, hooking a thumb into his sheriff’s belt and idly drumming his fingers against the old star there. “Well, uh, I’d be grateful if you could call her on down and I’ll speak to her myself.” He tried to work with the woman who gave no indication of anything other than how much of a burden he was apparently being to her by asking.

“Can’t leave the bar.” She said, and set the glass of rum down firmly to make her point.

Bill cut in because this was going nowhere and he stood, ready to leave because Alisha was obviously not going to be any help. “What about Otis Meyer?” He blurted his question before Lewis could ask for a pen to write with.

“What’s your business with him?” Alisha was a bit more forthcoming here, not because she sensed Bill’s agitation but because this could be news for her to deliver.

Bill was equally uncooperative though, and turned away without touching the drink she’d poured him. He felt trapped—

“Don’t fucking touch me, bastard!” Marke’s frustrated complaining stopped him short. “I can walk by myself.”

Otis Meyer appeared shortly, his displeasure visible to Bill a mile away even if Bill didn’t think he recalled a time when Otis wasn’t frowning.

Marke felt his heart nearly drop into his stomach as his foot missed a step, barely saved from tumbling down the stairs by Otis grabbing his arm and jerking him back none too gently. Marke wasn’t entirely grateful, but his face flushed and he fell quiet at least until he’d caught his breath.

The short-lived altercation was observed only by a few curious diners though it was soon forgotten and swept aside by the din of conversation and laughter.

Marke’s embarrassment doubled, his ears burning with humiliation. “Fuck you, let go of me.” He began to protest again as he was escorted towards the door, trying to pull his rapidly bruising arm free from Otis.

“Otis-“ Bill tried to call out to the man, navigating the dining space as carefully as he could manage by following the wall.

Otis pulled Marke harshly closer, his voice low in warning. “Let me make one fucking thing clear.” He hissed, stilling Marke who glared resentfully into the floor. “I ain’t fucking stupid, and I don’t care how patient Spencer’s been with you. I will fucking make your mother sorry she ever gave birth to you if you think you can jerk me around.” He knew what Marke was doing here.

Marke flinched despite his stubborn attempt to remain angry, his nails digging into Otis’ arm in an attempt to get him to let go. When that didn’t work, he decided to turn on the waterworks. “You’re crushing my arm, please-“ The tears welled up soon after this choked plea.

Otis released him immediately, needing a moment to reassess his temper. “Get out.” He hadn’t actually meant to hurt him, but Marke was so pale that a firm grab had left angry red marks on his skin.

“Meyer!” Bill raised his voice as he reached him, aggression pouring out of him.

Otis turned just in time to feel Bill’s fist ram into his side, the large man’s momentum sending sharp pain straight through his kidney as if it might just burst from the impact.

“Keep your fucking hands off the kid!” Bill didn’t know what got into him. He’d come here to talk, to ask about what happened to Frank, to finally close the cold case that had haunted him out of Lincoln. Instead he’d punched the Marauder so hard that Otis was struggling to stay upright.

Otis doubled over, clutching his cramping side. “What the fuck, Bill-?” He barely managed to gasp the words out, gritting his teeth and inhaling sharply.

“He’s a kid, Otis! Jesus, what’s happened to you?” Bill didn’t think he’d have to explain that Otis really had no right to manhandle a poor kid like that—

Except Marke wasn’t a kid, and he was both pig-headed and prideful. “Serves you right!” He had nothing on him he could use, but Bill didn’t walk around without his utility belt and Marke knew exactly what was on it.

The young man snatched the army knife while Bill was distracted, and things only escalated from there.

“Gentlemen, please!” Lewis decided it was time to get involved before the situation could get any worse, a few well-meaning patrons joining him.

Bill was too cautious to not notice Marke’s thievery, but he’d misjudged Otis’ perception given what he’d just done to him and his sudden movement was met with aggression.

Otis grabbed Bill by the front of his shirt, dragging him towards him before slamming his head right into his. There was a crack of skulls colliding that stunned both men, Bill only a fraction of a second longer but this gave Otis the space to then kick the back of his shins, sending him crashing violently to the floor.

“Back off, Meyer!” Lewis got between them before Otis’ temper could provoke him to do something nastier. “Walk away!” He yelled, blocking the man with an arm and waiting a few seconds before ducking down to check on Bill.

Bill groaned, momentarily blinded by the searing pain that echoed all over his body, writhing in brief uncertainty of whether his head or his back hurt more. He was lucky not to have cracked his skull off the floor, covering his head with his arms as he tried to orient himself— rules of survival dictated that he should protect his head, adrenaline racing and yet he was immobilised for the moment.

Ten years ago, Otis Meyer couldn’t have even lifted him.

Everything in the pub seemed to come to a loud stand still, disturbed only by Bill’s muffled whine of pain.

Marke staggered, stepping wide around Bill to avoid Otis, white knuckled as he gripped the knife tightly. He wasn’t planning to use it, he’d just been meaning to wave it around a little, protect himself—

Otis wiped the blood dripping from his nose on the back of his hand, grimacing as he held his side again.

Frightened eyes stared, murmurs and whispers starting up again gradually once there was confirmation that Bill hadn’t broken his spine in the fall. His weight had probably saved him, though the pain would last.

Otis waited until he was sure that Bill sat up before his eyes found Marke again. “You ever dream about starting a fight with me, you better wake the fuck up.” He warned.

The boy wasn’t even half of Bill’s weight, Otis could easily snap him in half.

“Alright, that’s enough!” Lewis stood, leaving Bill’s side and glaring between Otis and Marke. The knife didn’t go unnoticed, and the old sheriff held his hand out for it expectantly. “Give me that.” He demanded firmly.

“I wasn’t going to use it.” Marke muttered begrudgingly as he handed it over.

“Yeah, well, you can explain that to Maria.” Lewis passed the knife to another man who’d come to help. “Get word to Mrs Miller, and take the kid over to see her.” He instructed.

Marke was marched away before Lewis turned to the other problem. “I’ve had enough of you Marauders thinking you can just throw people around.” He hadn’t done this in a long time, but things had changed around here. “Turn around, Meyer, before I decided a few hours in a cell are right to cool you off.” He motioned for the man to walk ahead of him outside.

“I’m calm.” Otis stepped back, holding his hands up to show Lewis he wasn’t planning on continuing what he hadn’t even started. He needed to get Abby the fuck out of the Marauders’ place before Marke managed to sneak back in again.

“I said turn around.” Lewis didn’t want to hear it, pushing him firmly until he relented. “I hope you understand I’m doing this for your sake, Meyer.” He added.

Otis didn’t believe him, of course, especially given the fact that Lewis had done nothing when Bill hit him first. He shouldered the door open on his way out, leaving it swinging as he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stop the bleeding. He was lucky he hadn’t broken it.

“You have to understand,” Lewis sighed, catching the door before it could hit him. “Look at the size of you, and look at him.” He knew better than to judge a book by its cover, but he needed there to be order in front of the Marauder girl at the bar- so she could tell Quinn that Maria controlled Jackson. “You have the drive to finish a fight, I’m stopping you before you do something you’ll regret.”

Lewis was right, but that didn’t mean he was fair.

Otis wanted to deck him, but he knew it was just his temper bleeding out of him. He stopped walking to catch his breath, but blood continued to drip down his nose, soaking his shirt. Great, it was the shirt Joel liked too.

“You’re a fucking mess.” Lewis took his arm to turn him, bringing out his handkerchief to hold it to his face.

Otis leaned his head away warily, staring Lewis down as if he’d offended him by trying to be decent.

Lewis felt a flush of frustration knowing this was the man Janet had cried to him about last night. “Janet’s going to be upset knowing you got hurt. Let me just look at you, eh?” He tried to find common ground.

Otis almost laughed at the irony of it all, taking the cloth but lightly batting Lewis’ hand away. He used it to wipe the blood from his hands, his gaze downcast as he spoke, “you’re a better man than I am.”

Lewis didn’t know how he should take this praise, further confused by how to handle this interaction. As far as he’d heard, Otis was usually even tempered, not a man of many words but he put his ‘family’ first and that was something Lewis could respect.

Otis pushed past him to walk away, but Lewis wasn’t finished talking.

“Hang on, why were you dragging the boy around in the first place?” He needed answers first, and to be fair, watching the way Otis just about threw Marke out had made him think he deserved Bill sucker punching him in the gut.

“Don’t worry about my business, I’ll talk to Maria.” Otis dismissed. “You go love that woman already, Jesus Christ.”

Joel bounced his leg anxiously where he sat on the most god awful plastic chair in the clinic’s waiting room, flicking through a general health magazine that offered nothing he didn’t already know.

Jesse pacing in front of him didn’t help, and Dina’s muffled groans and shouts in between the nurse’s loud instructions to ‘push’ didn’t really help either.

Tommy and Maria had been here too up until a moment ago, gone somewhere, though Joel hadn’t paid attention enough to know exactly where if anyone asked.

“Sit down-lah.” Robin interrupted her son’s pacing, her eyes following him sternly over the rim of her half moon glasses, without so much as missing a knot in her crocheting. “Left, right, left, right- not going to make baby come faster.”

Jesse groaned irritably, rubbing his face but knowing better than to answer his mother back. He dropped himself into the chair beside Joel, the plastic squeaking at his lack of grace towards it. “Can’t they give her something for the pain?” He felt like he should be in there, but Dina had given strict instruction that she didn’t want her birth to be a viewing gallery and so Ellie was inside while he was out here.

Dina’s screaming was horrendous for his nerves, and he was becoming exhausted with jumping every time it rose to anything above a whine.

Robin scoffed at him. “Now you know what I go through to bring your big head to the world.”

“For the love of God, Mom-“ And then Jesse and her dived into a long argument in their native tongue.

Joel shut the magazine he’d not really been paying attention to anyway, grabbed his walking cane and excused himself to no one in particular. So much for his quiet day. He didn’t quite feel right leaving without telling Ellie, but he doubted he’d see her until the baby arrived.

“Sir-“ Fenton was uncharacteristically dishevelled, his sun-kissed hair hanging partially over his eyes in the absence of his rancher hat, though he had no time to fix it this morning before he’d rushed here to see Ellie and Dina when he got the news. “Mr Miller?” He was carrying a stack of extra pillows under his arm, his pinstripe shirt left untucked from his belt though it was a fine thing that Joel might’ve picked out from his own wardrobe.

Joel nearly walked past him, but stopped only when he realised Fenton was actually talking to him. “Warren.” A faint nod in acknowledgment.

“I’m sorry.” The younger man offered him an apologetic smile for disturbing whatever thoughts seemed to have him distracted. “Are you leavin’?” He’d apologised for his lack of decorum with the party incident some time back, but he couldn’t honestly tell if Joel disliked him since or if the man was just grumpy by nature. “Them plastic chairs are real bad to sit on, I got somethin’ to make ‘em more comfortable.” He admitted.

Joel glanced back towards where Jesse and Robin were still engaged in deep conversation though at least she didn’t seem to be berating him anymore. Jesse looked stressed, Joel could imagine why but it wasn’t his place to comment. He would have to figure it out between himself and Ellie— parenting like a divorced father who’d been replaced by a step-parent in the home.

“That’s… considerate.” Joel couldn’t honestly help but notice how Fenton was a much gentler, honest version of the man he loved. It made him miss Otis more though. “But no, thank you.” He cleared his throat, snipping away any threads of guilt that might’ve reeled him back to the confines of the chair for the next god knew how many hours. “I’m not much good just sitting around here, so…” It wasn’t like he had to justify it but Fenton was still listening.

Joel cleared his throat and changed the topic slightly. “Did you see Meyer?” He’d honestly had a brief moment where he thought Otis might have sent Fenton to get him.

“No, sir, not since last night.” Fenton admitted.

“Alright.” Joel’s disappointment was evident, but he moved on. “Anyway, you should mind yourself walking around.” He motioned lightly with his cane as if to remind Fenton he should still be on crutches.

“Yes, sir.” Fenton honestly hated walking around with them and figured he could handle the pain in his thigh over time. Limping around Jackson was better than bruising his ribs and underarms with those horrible things, but there was a sunny smile at Joel’s advice. “Thanks for lookin’ out, Mr Miller.”

Joel grumbled at him dismissively, knowing why he preferred Otis. Fenton was too polite, too much sunshine- he reminded him of Ellie trailing after him like a lost puppy, laughing at her bad puns and hoping Joel would join in. It wasn’t a bad thing, but Joel had learned to be cynical and was ingrained with the pessimistic belief that the world would take away that joy eventually. Otis suited him just fine.

Joel didn’t know Fenton well enough to realise that he was optimistic in spite of everything he’d been through, and that in some ways, it was Fenton’s own version of surviving.

Fenton carried on towards the waiting area, offering a pillow to Robin first. “Ma’am?” And it got her to stop scolding her son at least.

Jesse would have smiled if everything wasn’t weighing on him so heavily, rubbing at his tired face and muttering his thanks.

Robin nudged him and probably snarked him with something about a stranger looking out for her old back more than her own son, but Jesse had tuned her out for the sake of his sanity at this point.

“Jesse, I need to talk to you.” Fenton said, unexpectedly serious.

Jesse felt his stomach nearly drop, looking to his mother briefly who seemed to also pick up that something might be wrong.

“Why you need him?” The woman asked directly, finally setting her crocheting down.

“It’s nothin’ to worry about, ma’am, I’ll have him back in ten.” Fenton promised, taking Jesse’s arm firmly.

“Are you in trouble?” Robin questioned her son.

“No, Mom, I didn’t do anything, it’s probably just about patrol.” Jesse did his best to disguise his indignation at her assumption, letting Fenton pull him out of his seat.

Fenton set the spare pillows on the chair, using Jesse for support as they walked away, and leaving Robin with a smile for assurance.

Robin’s gaze followed them only for so long before she seemed to buy that whatever it was would be resolved quickly. She still sniffed and mumbled away to herself that she was disregarded.

“Fen, what’s going on?” Jesse questioned when they turned the corner. “Where’s your crutches, man?”

“I’m okay, just…” Fenton winced slightly from practically power walking so quickly, letting go of Jesse to drag himself to the wall so he could rest a moment. His hamstring was practically cramping from the effort, the muscle squeezing painfully around the sore gunshot wound. “Sorry for scarin’ you, I don’t really know your Ma that well, but you looked miserable somethin’ awful-“

“Fenton.” Jesse cut in, feeling a little bad for making the other man flinch. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to physically push back the headache he’d had all morning while he took a breath. “Let me get this straight,” He groaned slightly and dropped his hands to look at his friend again. “You walked up to my Mom, and lied straight through your teeth, that you needed me for something important?”

Fenton seemed to think about it for a moment before nodding sheepishly. “Yeah, somethin’ like that.” It was an apt summary.

Jesse took a moment to comprehend how easily that came to Fenton, and briefly wondered if he should be worried or impressed. “But you don’t… actually have anything important to talk about?” He was still not sure.

Fenton leaned back against the wall behind him, shrugging a shoulder. “You look like you could use a beer. You’ve got a lot on your mind and that’s important to me.” He tried to make his lie not a lie because he did kind of feel bad about it.

Jesse laughed, exhaustedly, at how ridiculous the entire thing was, but sobered relatively quickly. “I appreciate it, Fen, but…” He didn’t know how to let him down and crumbled when he met the man’s gaze.

Fenton wore a sheepish smile, tilting his head inquisitively as he waited for Jesse to finish his excuse.

Jesse had been the only thing on his mind the past month at least, and the minute he’d thought he could convince himself to be sensible, it started again— an awful cycle that confused him.

It was difficult to say anything particular though, because Fenton honestly didn’t know where to start. It really wasn’t the right time for anything, and then, even if it was— what exactly did he want from Jesse? Fenton couldn’t honestly answer that.

It was easier to be his friend, for now… until he could figure out if he was just chasing some idealistic romance story to make up for the void he felt now that there was no danger to chase in Jackson. In short, Fenton had never held a meaningful romantic relationship, and really didn’t know where to even start.

What if he was just lonely?

Jesse couldn’t quite describe the way Fenton looked at him, but it was with warmth he wasn’t used to. “Uh, look, Fen…” He tried again. “Dina’s still in there and… I already fucked up with her a few times. I promised her I’d be a good dad, even if she’s got Ellie with her- I- I promised myself-“ It came spilling out of him even though he wasn’t the kind to rant about anything. Recently though, he seemed to want to talk to anyone who’d listen because his two best friends were actually not available… and well, how was this parent equation going to work? It wasn’t like he could move in to be there for the kid- a kid that didn’t even yet know or need him.

Fenton looked a bit like a deer dazzled in the headlights, his smile absent for once. Helpless was the best way Jesse could describe it and honestly it made him feel worse.

“Forget it, it’s just… bad sleep.” Jesse felt ashamed, though he knew that this was neither his nor Dina’s fault. They just drifted apart once the sparks were done flying and they’d done every exciting thing they both wanted to do intimately- after that it was just stagnant. Of course he still cared about her, and he’d do things if she asked him to because she was very attractive and funny and they always had fun. But Dina was happy with Ellie, and they fit each other just right.

“I mean…” Fenton slid his hands into his pockets, his gaze falling away from Jesse and idly following the grout between the floor tiles for a second. “Would you want to get back with her?”

Jesse could have answered that easily a few months ago, maybe even made a joke about it. Now he was just stuck.

Fenton’s heart shrank inside his ribcage, squeezing in on itself the longer Jesse took to answer the question. “The three of you could make it work.” He suggested after a long minute, glancing to Jesse again.

“Nah, that’s just weird.” Jesse tried to laugh, but the air between them was muddied, awkward. It never was before, and Jesse didn’t know why.

Fenton tried to smile. He knew what jealousy was and it was an ugly thing he never wanted to experience again. “Says who? It ain’t no one’s business if you all agree to it, right?”

Jesse shook his head. “Dina’s already had it rough from stupid people like Seth who think her sexuality’s their business- what do you think they’re going to say about the bisexual dating two?” He scoffed at the idea, rubbing his sweaty palms on the back of his jeans before crossing his arms for lack of a better thing to do with his nervous energy.

“The world’s fucking ended, Jess.” Fenton replied, his voice quiet. “No one else matters.”

“I know, but… even if it wasn’t about that,” Jesse shrugged a shoulder. “Dina chose Ellie.” Why should he shove himself into their lives? And even if Dina had some mutual attraction to him still, why would Ellie be okay with it?

“You should talk to her still-“ Fenton pressed, raising his voice just a little to cut any protest Jesse would interrupt him with. “Not about this if it ain’t what you want. I mean about the baby, he- or she- is yours too.”

Jesse knew Fenton was probably right, but he couldn’t help but feel like he was getting in the way. He set a hand on Fenton’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly before moving to lean against the wall beside him. “You know I’ve been reading all these books about how to be a dad but they don’t say anything about looking after a kid.” He admitted, sinking down to sit on the floor. “All of it is just shit about bonding when the kid is walking. Makes me wonder if men aren’t just useless for the first two years.”

Fenton squatted down beside him and then stretched his bad leg out, patting Jesse’s thigh sympathetically. “You’re askin’ the wrong person, but changin’ the baby or warmin’ a bottle ain’t a woman’s thing, I’m damn sure of that.”

“I know. My mom’s been making me practice on a pillow.” Jesse confessed, laughing about it even though it felt a bit embarrassing to admit. “I kind of want to see how good I am at it really.”

Fenton laughed too, and the things for a moment seemed normal again. “… I guess things are going to get busy for you, huh?” He looked over at him, though not quite meeting his eyes, focusing on some nondescript scar on Jesse’s hand.

“I guess.” Jesse didn’t seem to think much of it. “I was going to invite you out to the falls out at Teton once you were better on your feet.”

“Waterfalls?” Fenton asked, enamoured by the idea. He loved spending time out in nature, finding scenic places he could sketch along the road.

“Yeah.” Jesse confirmed without spoiling much. “We used to all go down there in the Summer, Tommy showed it to me. We’d have water fights and a few of the Patrol seniors would organise a big lunch.”

Fenton was suddenly not so enthusiastic at the idea of half of Jackson being there- not that half were on the Patrol roster but even one person more felt like too many.

“Don’t think anyone remembers though, I haven’t heard a word about it from Esther and she’s usually on top of organising community events.” Jesse continued. “Maybe with everything that happened, she’ll be fixing a more… local cookout or something this summer.”

“Do you still want to go?” Fenton figured Jesse brought it up for a reason.

“Maria says I should.” The woman had noticed that Jesse wasn’t quite himself since the incident with the Salvagers, though Jesse himself hadn’t necessarily noticed. Sure, he felt more miserable lately, stressed out, tormented even by the smallest mistakes and frustrated at himself for behaving like everything didn’t matter in the past. “She says Marke could probably use some time with people closer to his age too, but I don’t know, I haven’t really spoken with him much…” He stopped slowly, squinting as if trying to discern something. “Marke is a he, right?” He wasn’t meaning to be obtuse, but he wasn’t sure.

Fenton shrugged unhelpfully. “First time I met him, he accused me of thinkin’ him weird ‘cuz he wears dresses sometimes. I told him it ain’t my business.” He honestly didn’t care, but the better-inclined part of him had already berated himself for being selfish.

Marke seemed like a loner. He’d been through a lot and Maria was right, he probably could use a sense of normal just as much as Ophelia Ackerman needed. Fenton’s nature to look after other people compelled him to mind that fact.

“Maybe he likes wearing them, just doesn’t know if it’s okay.” Jesse reflected, distracted momentarily from his own problems. “My mom has these tapes of some old tv show about men who dress up and wear makeup and things. I think they call themselves drag queens or something, it’s actually kind of… fun to watch in a weird way.” He didn’t really understand the way that reality TV worked, and often assumed it was like movies.

Fenton had never seen any thing like that before so he didn’t have a measure of comparison. “I don’t know, Jess. He might think we’re tryna make fun of him.” He hadn’t yet gotten a grasp on Marke, he’d initially thought the boy hated him but he’d come to visit him a few times in the hospital.

“Well, maybe not then.” Jesse dismissed. “Can you invite him? I don’t really know him that well.” Aside from what other people said, and not much of it was good but Jesse never cared much for rumours.

After all, when Ellie had first arrived some five or six years ago now, she’d been the resident weird kid. Jesse, Cat and Dina had practically adopted her into their friendship group.

“I guess. You plannin’ on bringin’ pot?” Fenton’s question was unexpected and Jesse just laughed.

“I thought you said you didn’t want to do it again?” Jesse posed it more as a question. He knew better now about doing that kind of thing, but responsible, every now and then, leisure couldn’t hurt to take the edge off.

Fenton hummed vaguely and attempted to stand.

Jesse got up to help him, managing to pull him up by his arms. “If everything’s alright with Dina and Ellie, and only after I’m sure the baby’s good, we can have some time off.” He decided.

Fenton thanked him for his help, but held on to Jesse for a fraction of a second longer than he needed to find his balance. He almost let him go, and Jesse almost stepped back, but Fenton suddenly tightened his grip, keeping him close.

Jesse paused, his smile still there. “You good?” He didn’t seem to find anything weird about it, studying the other man’s features.

Fenton nodded, keeping his gaze down at Jesse’s hands. He took a deep breath before lifting his head and trying not to stumble awkwardly over his words. “When you’re done,” He prefaced, giving another nod as if to summarise the tasks that Jesse had already mentioned. “I wanna talk to you ‘bout somethin’.”

Jesse thought Fenton looked a bit flushed but it could’ve just as easily been the humidity from the afternoon drawing close. “Well…” He almost laughed at the sudden intensity he saw in the man’s gaze, teetering between believing this was the lead up to a joke or something to tease Fenton about. “You know you can talk to me any time, right? I’ll always have time for you.” He settled for taking it seriously because he’d hate to think that Fenton needed to talk about something bothering him and that he wasn’t there for him.

Fenton let him go, his face burning more as he nodded and idly brushed his bangs in an attempt to put them in some kind of order. “I know.” It was unfair how Jesse could say it so easily. “It’s just… the things goin’ on here are more important,” He then slid his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “And this can wait.”

“You sure?” Jesse’s question was hardly out before Fenton nodded quickly. “Okay.”

“I’ll talk to Marke.” Fenton moved on, taking a few steps back. “I’ll bring some lunch for you and your Ma.”

Jesse didn’t realise he was starving until Fenton mentioned food. “I appreciate it, thanks.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: Old Somethings, But Never Friends

Joel made it home just as the afternoon drew on, the sun unforgiving in a cloudless blue sky and the humidity having turned the front of his shirt damp with sweat.

In comparison, the entry way was bright but cool, drawing a sigh of relief as he entered. “You stay here.” He told Bill, indicating the direction of the living room.

Bill followed without a word of complaint surprisingly, though maybe it had something to do with the fact he’d had the air knocked out of him an hour ago and still felt short of breath. Either that or he was simply too tired to argue.

He could smell meat roasting in the oven, and something else, slightly sweeter like peppers or tomatoes maybe. Must have been nice to have a homemade lunch instead of building up more calluses from the can opener.

“Otis?” Joel called, manoeuvring himself to sit on the upholstered shoe storage nearby so he could unlace his boots. He set his crutches aside, listening briefly for any movement and just about picking up the sound of the washing machine’s muffled whirring as it ran.

“You two living together real cozy.” Bill observed, at least having the decency to leave his worn boots at the door. They had seen better days, but he was careful enough with his resources to keep using them until they’d completely tore through before he’d bring out his spares. Breaking in new shoes was always a bitch and his weary feet really didn’t need more torture.

Joel sighed, rubbing his calves before pushing himself to stand. “You telling me you never had a housemate?” He shifted his weight between his feet to test if he could manage without support. Sitting down for a couple of hours at the hospital had done him good at least, even if his backside was sore from the plastic chair.

Bill scoffed at him but chose not to answer. He suspected the correct word was ‘roommate’, though he knew it was a big deal for Joel to bring him here. And… really, he could understand why he’d been avoiding it.

He’d ran into Joel at the hospital, and for all of that old Sheriff’s insistence that Bill should have his back checked out, Bill really couldn’t stand the idea of being trapped in a small room with a nurse there to poke and probe him. He was made of sturdier stuff, he’d survived worse than getting clothes-lined by an ex-soldier, it was just his nerves that got the best of him most of the time.

More importantly, Joel Miller owed him, and Bill intended to make sense of the questions that had been haunting him at the bottom of every beer bottle for the last five years.

Why did Frank do it?

“Over there.” Joel once again motioned towards the living room as he led Bill inside.

For him, avoiding Bill had little to do with his ‘unorthodox’ living arrangement. Joel had a feeling he knew what Otis would say— Frank made his own choice, he’d wanted to leave, Otis had simply made a deal to get him into a QZ.

Why he didn’t show up at the promised time and day was a different story. Any number of things could happen out there, everyone knew that.

What exactly did Bill want to hear? Joel saw a haunted man— paranoia and compulsions aside.

Stragglers wanted to get in to quarantine zones all the time; tired of surviving on their own, tired of fighting the Infected, or simply believing that things inside the walls would be better than the road. Frank was just another name to Otis Meyer, and it was doubtful he’d even remember the man.

That aside, Joel didn’t think Otis needed anyone else’s problems right now. His headspace was clouded and he seemed lost in it quite often as of late. He wasn’t making excuses- okay, maybe he was, but Joel didn’t feel guilty for it.

Otis Meyer had been blamed for too much as far as Joel was concerned. He was everyone’s Devil, the entity they blamed when things didn’t work out. Joel didn’t know if he could pull any knives out of the man’s back by himself, let alone heal the wounds.

But Joel had promised Bill answers, never mind the fact that he probably would have promised anything in that moment of desperation to get Ellie and Tommy to safety— and maybe Joel knew how Bill felt. Leaving Tess behind in the Capitol tormented him for years. He’d refused to believe that she’d been bit, and for a moment he’d wanted to believe in the miracle cure that Marlene had preached about even though it was far too late.

And if it wasn’t for Ellie, Joel would have been alone, just like Bill was.

But these were just the stages of grief, and no matter how Joel had come to recognise them after so much loss, he still fell victim to the cycle every damn time.

Maybe it was sympathy, he didn’t know, but it was definitely human. And maybe… what happened to Tommy at the hands of the SLC had brought Joel to the altar at last, and maybe what nearly happened to Ellie had brought him to his knees and encouraged him to bow his head in penitence. Joel didn’t quite know if he did believe in a higher force, but it was hard not to believe in karma.

Bill parted ways with him in the hall, collapsing as delicately as a man of his stature could manage into the living room sofa.

Joel continued on.

The floorboards were warm where the sunlight touched them, filtering in through the window slots in the front door and spilling across from the entryway of the living room and the kitchen. But between, there were cool spots, untouched by the heat and pleasant to step on.

He moved through the kitchen to inspect the lunch menu in passing, a smile appearing of its own accord at spotting an abandoned bowl of washed strawberries left forgotten on the central island beside a chopping board. He stole one for himself, humming in approval at the sweet and sour taste of the fruit, and briefly stopped to check on the oven to make sure it hadn’t been forgotten too.

Fortunately, there was a timer set on it, and all the dishes and pots used in the process were now stacked on the drying rack.

It felt strange to come home to something like this, but Joel hoped he could get used to it.

Finally, he arrived at the laundry room, leaning against the door frame and resting a hand on his belt.

Hazy sunshine poured in through the open porch door leading out through the side of the house and overlooking what used to be Ellie’s studio garage. The laundry room itself was used sparingly- storage boxes, cleaning products, buckets of paint and half used varnish put into some kind of organised mess beside the washer and dryer.

The washing machine was on, humming low as it began its spin cycle, its whirring muted by Joel’s careful choice of flooring materials and maintenance.

There was a new box near it that Joel didn’t recognise, neatly labelled which made it stand out amongst the orderly chaos.

Joel was curious, but he pushed past, his hand reaching for the door frame to support himself as he stepped outside, squinting against the stark brightness of the outdoors. “There you are.” He finally found him, momentarily forgetting that he was supposed to pretend to be upset that Otis hadn’t come to collect him like he said he would that morning.

A second box sat beside the man on the steps, a fire barrel burning despite the summer heat.

Otis tore a page from the sketchbook he was holding and tossed it into the drum, the flames devouring it in seconds and filling the air with the smell of burning paper. “Here I am.” He agreed distantly, his gaze lost in the flames until Joel eased himself beside him.

“What’s going on, Otis?” Joel could only skirt around it for so long, and he would keep asking until Otis answered.

Otis turned his head in his direction, though he didn’t quite meet his gaze, offering a wistful smile.

It was a handsome expression for all of the sorrow it carried, maybe because there was a softness to it that Joel rarely saw from the man.

“… wish I could tell you.” Otis answered quietly, ripping another page to feed the fire.

He really wanted to. He hated feeling like this, like he was spinning out of control, gradually losing touch and going crazy— he wanted to be normal again, but talking about anything was difficult and the words just caught in his throat every time.

Joel turned himself inward to face Otis, holding his hand out slightly. “Can I see?” It was a request, one that Otis could refuse. Joel honestly expected him to- a man who kept his entire life in a couple of boxes didn’t have a habit of sharing.

Otis sighed and handed it over, reclaiming his beer bottle and leaning back on the step behind him. “How’re the girls doin’?” He assumed things must have gone well for Dina if Joel was home already.

Joel opened the sketchbook to inspect the pages, finding a series of cartoonish cat drawings. One of them was playing a guitar. “Dina was toughing it out. Jesse, not so much.” He replied distractedly, tilting the book slightly to try and make out what the cat in the corner seemed to be doing. The drawings weren’t exactly good, but they weren’t child-like either.

“And Ellie?” Otis was fidgety, having Joel looking over the sketchbook made him anxious for some reason.

Joel looked over at him while turning the page, squinting slightly against the sunshine. This wasn’t Otto’s, that much was obvious, Otis would never burn the boy’s drawings. “Ellie’s doing okay, I think.” She was calmer than he’d expected her to be in all honesty, but he wasn’t here to talk about her. “Whose is this?” The next page spread was full of sharks.

Pale eyes turned to Joel finally, staring at him for a long, deliberating moment. “Mason Anslow. Pittsburgh Hunter.” Two words that could hardly summarise a person.

Joel smiled uncertainly, glad that Otis met his gaze but not sure what it was he found there. There was a distance to the man still, not exactly a wall- he was talking, which was a big deal, but Joel felt a sort of emptiness there. It wasn’t the way someone spoke of a dearly departed friend. “That name’s familiar to me.” Joel realised, frowning slightly as he tried to recall where he’d heard it. He set the sketchbook to one side, taking Otis’ hand gently and turning it over so he could examine the inked letters on his arm. And sure enough, he found it, the third name tattooed after the inscription:

In loving memory of Otto and Mary Meyer…

Joel’s fingers caressed gently over Otis’ palm before slipping between his own, squeezing his hand as he traced Tess’ name several rows below it. He could ask why Otis was burning Mason’s sketchbook, he could ask him who he was, but… Joel didn’t know if it mattered.

Most people thought that Otis wasn’t a sentimental man, but Joel knew him differently. A man who engraved the names of the people he’d lost on his skin cared deeply about them. Sometimes, Joel felt that Otis maybe cared too much about others and not enough about himself. He just didn’t seem to know how to, and struggled to let people do it for him.

Otis could feel his blood pulsing in his throat. He felt weird. Uncomfortable. Joel’s touch never repulsed him, it wasn’t his touch that bothered him- Janet had held his hand like this several moments before she…

“Want to talk about—“ Joel’s question was interrupted.

“Spencer kissed me.” The words were thrown out almost too bluntly.

Joel’s stomach sank and he let go of Otis’ hand. “… what?” He needed a moment to process it, his chest tight as if he was expecting some other confession to follow.

Otis retrieved his hand, holding the side of his neck in hope of calming his racing pulse.

A long moment of silence passed between them, heavy and uncomfortable.

Joel tossed the sketchbook in his lap into the barrel, sending a stronger wave of heat from the pyre of memories. He didn’t know what to say.

“Eight years.” Otis spoke, his voice a low rumble as he watched the pages curl and blacken. “Thought it meant something—“

It was Joel’s turn to cut him off, unable to sit on the nausea of his suspicions. “Did it?” The question was quiet but there was a bitterness to it, accusations laced in.

Otis paused, his pale eyes finding Joel but the man wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I’m talkin’ about letting me have this.” He’d asked her to back off, but he hadn’t been willing to give up on their friendship and that was his mistake. Joel wasn’t on the same wavelength though. “Jesus, Miller, you can’t be fucking serious—“

“That’s enough.” Joel inhaled, rubbing his face and reminding himself to unclench his jaw. “Sorry, I just…” He apologised a moment later, the shame catching up to him.

Otis touched his knee to assure him it was fine but said nothing more on the topic. Joel put his foot in his mouth often, he knew that, but he probably also should have explained things a little better.

Joel took a few minutes to calm his racing mind, before he’d take Otis’ hand again. “I should’ve been here.”

“It ain’t that serious, wouldn’t be the first friend.” Otis dismissed, his tone resigned but lighter. Having Joel around made him feel better, he felt like home, the place didn’t matter.

“No, that’s not what I mean.” Joel huffed. “I know what happened with your father’s been eating at you. I know having Ophelia to worry about has too.” He could feel Otis start to withdraw his hand but he pulled him back firmly, touching his jaw to turn him to face him.

Otis didn’t want to have this conversation, his expression was guarded and he stared Joel down icily.

Joel held his gaze though, his tone softening just a fraction. “Lord knows I haven’t ever met anyone like you, Meyer, and I don’t think you’re soft and I know you don’t need me that way…” He preempted.

Otis did need him, but not for this. He always handled his personal business alone. He hoped Joel would understand that.

Joel offered a tender smile, a painfully handsome expression on his aged features and Otis just wanted to kiss it off his face so that he stopped looking at him so kindly. “I’m here now, and I’ll do my best to be here always.”

“You’re so fucking stupid, Miller.” Otis scoffed, turning his head away from Joel’s hand and glaring at the open doorway with the brief consideration to physically escape these weird threads of emotions knitting a warm scarf to melt the black ice inside his frosted ribcage.

Joel’s smile pulled into a smirk that he couldn’t help. “Are you getting shy, Meyer?” He teased, leaning in to kiss his scarred cheek.

Otis stiffened, trying his best not to squirm despite the overwhelming urge to run away from the affection. “Fuck you.”

Joel kissed him again. “That mouth of yours will get you in trouble some day.” He warned playfully.

Otis relaxed a little at the familiar threat. Joel always warned him it would happen, for as long as he’d known him probably, but now it had a different meaning. “You promise?” He asked, turning his head to capture his lips instead.

Joel hummed his response against his mouth, tempted to kiss him some more but he just about remembered they had an impatient guest waiting for them.

Otis barely disguised his disappointment when Joel pulled away suddenly, rousing a disgruntled frown that emphasised the slight pout of his scarred lips.

He had such gorgeously cruel eyes when he frowned that way that Joel almost caved. “There’s a few things we need to take care of first.” He tried to explain, suddenly finding his wrists hostage in the man’s hands. “Hey, are you listening to me?”

Otis was in his personal space, planting a knee between Joel’s legs as he moved over him. “There’s still more than enough fucking hours before dinner, Joel.” There was a double meaning in there somewhere.

Joel leaned back, trapped between Otis and the porch bannister behind him. How exactly was he supposed to tell him that Bill was in the living room now?

Otis leaned into his neck, about to kiss his throat but Joel suddenly shoved his hand under his jaw, pushing his head back.

“I said listen.” Joel insisted, feeling even more terrible because having Otis initiate was new and flattering and really he didn’t want to discourage him from it but this was important.

Otis paused, his playfulness muted as he looked down at Joel passively. He was annoyed but if Joel wasn’t in the mood then he would just have to wait. “You want to go see the girls?” Maybe Joel had just come home for a shower and a bit of rest before he’d go back to see Ellie and Dina.

“No, it’s… Bill.” Joel had to be direct.

Otis released Joel’s hands, sitting back on his haunches. “What about him?” Joel had been at the hospital, there was a chance he’d run into Bill of course.

“You floored him, Otis. He’s an old man, c’mon.” Joel wasn’t really scolding him for it, he just wanted to know what had led to such a thing, to hear both sides of the story. He knew Bill could be a little much but Bill hadn’t survived all these years picking fights he knew he’d lose.

Otis hadn’t needed to throw Bill the way he did either. Bill was just the unfortunate bastard who happened to take the brunt of his temper. “I just lost it, bad day.” He could admit that much at least, though he didn’t really want to talk about it and shifted to stifle the fire out with a bucket of water.

“Yeah, but he’s here now and he wants to see you.” Joel knew there was more to it.

Otis shot him a sharp look. “What the fuck does he want?”

“He’s not here for trouble, okay?” Joel could tell Otis was on a short fuse today, and really he should have been more mindful about constantly provoking him with sensitive topics but he too was doing his best so that they could have their own space as soon as possible. He was tired of navigating around everyone else just to have his own personal life. “He wants to talk about a smuggling job from way back when. He can tell you the details, but he asked me about this two months ago and I’ve been putting it off.” He had to own up to that too.

Otis stared at him emptily for a long moment, wary almost. “Why did he ask you?” Otis had been in front of Bill for weeks, he’d even spoken to him briefly when he’d first met Marke at the gates. Why did he feel the need to go through Joel to talk to him about a job? And what was so important about this job anyway? Otis hadn’t done any smuggling jobs since Denver, that was his last QZ before Pittsburgh and after that he was no longer FEDRA.

Joel motioned pointedly as if Otis’ aggression was an obvious deterrent, and it was a fair point. Otis might have been more laid back 15 years ago, but he’d had a nicotine addiction to keep him mellow.

“Sorry.” Otis exhaled, squeezing the side of his neck. “I need to work on it.” Everything around him had changed, he’d lost control of the situation and it had been a steep downhill slide from there.

Joel stood up, moving over to bring his arms around him from behind and squeezing him gently into him. “When Bill leaves, we can talk about everything.” He suggested, kissing his shoulder.

Otis groaned at the pressure on his bruised side, tensing involuntarily at the sensation. “I don’t want to talk, Joel. Not right now?” It was a request, his voice a low rasp on account of Joel’s closeness. He was tired, everything just felt draining, especially this anger he carried around everywhere, sometimes cooling but never enough- constantly burning under the surface of his skin like a chemical fire.

Joel loved his voice, it did things to him he couldn’t describe. “That’s okay, we’ll have some wine and you can finally sing for me.”

“You wish.” Otis felt choked hiding it from Joel, but what else was he supposed to do?

He knew what the best way was to take care of this feeling. It waited for him in a pit in Jackson Hole, at an intersection where the road had collapsed, trapped forever with a Clicker.

Otis struggled with this aggression for more than thirty years. The first dose of relief had landed John Ackerman in the hospital, and Otis had to pull the man’s teeth from his bloodied knuckles in the back of a police car. The second had been another inmate who’d sat around making jokes about his ‘pretty’ face and what he’d do to it, as if that was anything to brag about. Otis smashed his head into the sink in his cell. Multiple times. The third was after he’d been released, actually the very same day. He didn’t remember the details, they probably weren’t important.

But it was just incident after incident, until the world suddenly ended and he’d mellowed out some. It gave him something else to direct his energy towards. No one cared if he cut the throat of a Runner.

So, no. Otis Meyer wasn’t calm until provoked. He just needed a reason most of the time, and base insults or even first punches thrown were rarely good enough to satisfy it. Something inside him was just broken, like a faulty fuse constantly tripping and shutting out the power to let some demon take over.

Over the years, he’d learned to just let it. But now he wanted the quiet without the violence.

It scared him to think he would have done worse to Janet in that moment of anger if he wasn’t so fearful of becoming his father. Janet triggered something that should have stayed buried underneath the porch steps of his childhood home in Marfa.

“You ready to go inside?” Joel asked, reluctant to let him go. He felt like Otis had just escaped somewhere even though he was right here in his arms. The doctor had said that his spacing out was supposed to get better since he woke up from that coma, but maybe he just had a lot on his mind.

Otis hummed, giving Joel’s arm a pat to tell him to let him go.

Joel released him, moving back up the porch. “What are these boxes?” He asked as he walked.

“Gear mostly.” Otis replied. “I’m taking Abby to the Marauders tomorrow, so I had to get things sorted here.”

“Tomorrow?” Joel stopped in the doorway, frowning as he turned to him.

“There’s been… a development.” Otis chose his words carefully as always. “That Illuminated kid’s been a little too interested in hangin’ ‘round.”

“Who? Marke?” Joel hadn’t really pegged him for a troublemaker, sure a little confrontational and ill-mannered but there was no surprise there considering the people he’d been raised around. “And you figure he’s trying to get to Abby? Why?”

“Kid’s got a smart mouth but not an honest one, can’t get nothin’ worth believin’ out of him.” Otis couldn’t be entirely sure it was Abby that Marke was after but he couldn’t risk it. If Maria moved against Quinn, then he needed to make sure Quinn had nothing to leverage inside Jackson. Maria hardly needed any more reason to have her leadership questioned after the rocky year they’d had. “The two of them spent enough time together from what I hear. Either way, I don’t like it.”

Joel didn’t want to get involved with Abby anymore, and getting her out of Jackson would actually make him feel much better. But Abby had just as much reason to go after Otis as she did Joel, and given half a chance she likely would too. “Alright, well… I’ll come with you.”

“There’s no need. You should stay here, look out for Dina and Ellie, make sure Jesse doesn’t fall on his face.” Otis collected the now empty box from the porch on his way inside, flattening it.

“No, I’ve spent enough time there. Robin will hold the fort down.” Joel insisted, gently patting Otis’ back as the man passed him. “I want to go with you.” He hoped that Otis didn’t think he’d slow him down on account of his condition, but that wasn’t really the reason.

“Suit yourself.” Otis set the box atop the stack in the laundry room and then moved to the kitchen to wash his hands and check on the oven.

Joel closed the door before following him and stole another strawberry from the sieve. “Things still rough between your squad and Quinn’s Marauders?” Then he’d grab some beers from the fridge because he didn’t quite feel like breaking out a red for Bill over lunch.

Doubtful Bill would even accept the invitation.

“Couldn’t give a damn if I tried. Quinn’s fucked up more than I have, people move past things as long as you keep givin’ them what they want.” Otis dismissed, moving close to Joel and lowering his voice. “How about you use those big strong hands of yours and help me out here?” He requested, indicating the oven as he took the bottles from him, a playful smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

The urge to kiss him was strong, but Joel chose to satisfy himself by using said strong hands to cop a cheeky squeeze of the man’s backside, pulling him flush against him for just a moment. “You’re a devil, Meyer.” He accused.

Otis smirked, holding Joel’s gaze as if challenging him to do what he knew he wanted to.

Joel refrained, tearing away with a soft breath to retrieve the oven mitt. “I need a shower-“ The proclamation earned a chuckle. “I’m sweating.” Joel felt the need to clarify it wasn’t that kind of shower. “I’ll be down soon. Try not to punch Bill, will you?”

“Not sure I can promise that.” Otis scoffed, turning to head to the living room.

“I’m being serious.” Joel called after him.

“Yeah, yeah.” Otis sighed.

Bill had his back turned, inspecting Ellie’s framed drawing of Joel on the mantlepiece, hands in his pockets. There was sweat all down his back and on his brow when he turned to look over his shoulder, sensing that someone was watching him.

Bill’s lips pressed into a firm line, the man endeavouring to swallow his pride and turning properly of face him. He opened his mouth to talk but Otis beat him to it.

“I’m sorry.” An apology, delivered flatly but completely unexpected.

Bill stared at him, squinting slightly as if expecting it to be followed up with some sarcastic remark. “O-kay?” He frowned, not entirely sure how to react.

Otis moved over, hardly surprised when Bill seemed to take a step back, but all Otis did was place the unopened beer bottle on the coffee table for him to help himself. “I ain’t sorry about throwin’ the kid out though. He had no business being there.”

Bill didn’t think it was fair how one man could have so much certainty about his own actions when Bill struggled with conviction all his life. Then again, Bill had spent most of his life hiding, secluded, closeted, shamed for every little thing by an overbearing single mother who thought she was doing him a favour. She’d warped his perception of himself, and he came to hate everything and everyone, isolated until finally the world ended and he no longer had to keep up the pretences and avoid everyone’s eyes to evade confrontation.

People like Otis Meyer got under Bill’s skin, but he wasn’t sure if he envied the man or admired him.

“It’s not my business anyway.” Bill finally spoke, deciding not to linger on what happened at the diner. He reluctantly took the beer from the table, resisting the urge to wince at the pain in his back when he bent down. “I… don’t know what got into me, honestly. I don’t fucking get involved, I’ve never been like that.” He reflected, trying to ease his nerves. “Bygones?” His gaze rose to Otis again, his fingers drumming at the neck of the bottle in his hand anxiously.

Otis studied him for a long, unnerving moment before giving a short nod and moving to sit down, taking the armchair on the opposite side to give Bill plenty of room. “Miller said you wanted to talk to me.” The sooner they got through this, the sooner Bill could leave.

“Yes.” Bill responded stiffly, bringing the bottle up to his nose to sniff it before wiping the lip of it with his hand.

Otis didn’t know why. He’d just gotten his sweat all over it now. Wonderful.

Bill didn’t seem to think about it though and took his first cold sip after being parched in the sun for the last hour. It helped him relax a bit and he invited himself reluctantly to sit on the couch, right on the edge of the cushions, not quite comfortable even though his back would have been grateful for some support. “About five years ago… Joel passed through my side of town in Lincoln. Had Ellie with him.” He started slowly, trying to organise his thoughts.

Bill had spent the past two months thinking about how this conversation would play out, but now that he was here, his mouth was running completely out of practice.

Otis listened, more patiently than Bill had imagined, but he was always good at that- waiting. Bill didn’t like that about him though, unlike Joel who was tolerable, Otis gave the impression that he knew what Bill wanted but let him talk himself into a ramble anyway. Of course, that wasn’t true, but Bill was just overly conscious of his silence.

“He found Frank...” Bill’s words were measured, quiet, as he stared into his drink.

And for a long minute or two after that, there was only the muted sound of the water running in the bathroom upstairs and the pigeons roosting on the roof outside. Peace that Bill hadn’t known for many years. Frank would have loved Jackson.

“You need closure.” Otis guessed.

“I don’t know about closure.” Bill’s ruddy face was tired, his eyes watery and there was a sort of scepticism to his tone now, bitter with doubt that he could ever truly be at peace with himself over this. He reached into his back pocket, retrieving a battered old wallet from it. He didn’t keep money in here, of course, but it was a good place to keep important notes without losing them. From it, he drew a crumpled piece of paper, the creases fraying and threatening to rip even as he delicately unfolded it.

Otis watched him, empty. He’d sat opposite many people like this over the years, especially during his time in uniform. Grieving family members and friends showed up at the admissions desk, asking if such and such had come through the checkpoint or if he’d seen a person of such description while on patrol. Sometimes while he was on graveyard duty too, preparing the dead for burning or burial in the early years. It used to get to him, but inside was just still waters now.

Bill drew in a shaky inhalation and then held out the paper towards him. He didn’t move forward even though Otis obviously couldn’t reach it from where he sat. And there was a hardened look in his eyes, a stone wall he tried to build around his emotions, still in that anger stage in grieving.

Otis humoured him, pushing himself to stand and moving to take the paper carefully.

It read:

‘Well, Bill,

  I doubt you’d ever find this note cause you were too scared to ever make it to this part of town. But if for some reason you did, I want you to know I hated your guts. I grew tired of this shitty town and your set-in-your-ways attitude. I wanted more from life and you could never get that.

And that stupid battery you kept moaning about - - I got it. But I guess you were right. Trying to leave this town will kill me. Still better than spending another day with you.

Good Luck,

Frank.’(*)

It didn’t particularly stand out to Otis in any way and he turned it over looking for anything else that might highlight its significance.

Bill retrieved his handkerchief and mopped the sweat from his brow, sniffing lightly and clearing his throat. “You remember him?” It was a good question to start with.

“Not good with names.” Otis admitted, indicating his tattooed arm as if to make his point.

“Skinny guy, short, had dark hair, han- well, handsome…“ Bill tried to describe Frank as he remembered him and not as the emaciated corpse he’d found in an abandoned house on the outskirts of town when he finally decided to leave. “When he was alive at least.”

Otis looked away from Bill, resting his free hand on his belt as he took a swig from his drink. He might have vaguely remembered who Bill was talking about, but not clearly, more like a distant memory, blurry with time. “… always wore stupid ass Hawaiian shirts like he was on fucking vacation?”

Bill’s expression lifted, a timid chuckle escaping as he nodded. “God, I fucking hated those awful shirts.” For a moment, he forgot about the ugly emotions that had been sitting on his chest for the past half decade and was full on fond memories of inside jokes and Frank ambushing him first thing in the morning with a sparse plate of home grown strawberries.

Otis looked at the crumpled paper one more time, deciphering what could have ended things this way. Frank got himself bit trying to leave, but Joel mentioned a smuggling job and for some reason that connected Frank to him. Why? He didn’t remember. Most things from that time were a blur- Bill said that Joel had found Frank’s body six years ago, but six years ago Otis was in Pittsburgh. “When did Frank walk out on you?” The body had to be older than six years if it was a job he’d arranged.

Bill glared at him. “You’re a dick, Meyer.” He could have worded things a bit more kindly, but they were hardly friends.

“Eat me.” Otis didn’t feel like apologising, shrugging a shoulder and handing him the note back.

“You wish.” Bill almost snatched it, but remembered that it was barely holding on and so took it delicately. “Besides… from what I can gather, Miller’s already doing that.” He’d gotten nothing out of Joel on that matter, and maybe he was just trying to get at Otis because his indifference was a little annoying.

“You’re welcome to try too if you’re jealous.” Otis moved over, dropping into the opposite side of the sofa and just sinking comfortably in his seat with a sigh.

Bill opened his mouth, thought better of what was about to come out of it and then shut it again. He never exactly knew how to interpret Otis’ sarcasm. He could just as easily be denying or confirming Bill’s suspicions.

But more importantly— why were they sitting here on Joel Miller’s couch, drinking beer and cracking rude jokes as if they were age old friends? It was strange. Bill found it easy to be himself around these two, he didn’t have to be polite or rein in his undesirable traits. It was why he’d liked Tess too, and Bill could count the number of people he actually liked throughout his life on one hand.

Slowly, Bill turned himself inward, holding the bottle between his hands to stop the urge to fidget. “It was about two years before Joel came through… so maybe eight years ago now. We had an argument about something stupid- God, I can’t even remember what about, now…” Bill tried to remember as if he’d find some clue he might have missed all those years ago that Frank was leaving without any intention to come back. “Wasn’t the first time he walked out. Sometimes he just took a walk, visited the greenhouse, grabbed a beer and went to sing stupid songs on the rooftop of this old watch post— anyway, I guess I just… didn’t notice he was planning on never coming back.”

Otis watched Bill from his peripheral, taking in what the years had done to him.

Bill was as tired as the rest of them, but he was also spooked. He’d lived his life afraid of people, uncomfortable with his humanity. Injustice and human cruelty bothered someone as sensitive as Bill enough to encourage him to shroud himself in nihilism. And then Frank had just shown up one day and taught him the joy of having someone who cared about every part of him and didn’t think him shameful for it. Companionship, for 20 years, longer than even Joel and Tess had known each other, only for it to end that tragic way.

“How long have you been on the road?” Otis asked.

The slight change in topic confused Bill, pulling him back from that maelstrom of regret. “Two years. Why?” He asked in return. “I didn’t come here looking for you if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Otis already knew that. “The world fucking ended, Bill. There’s more of these last moments than there are people still breathin’ now.” He motioned the note. “Death puts a lotta things into perspective, but not always. Some people die scared, their last moments are just about that feelin’. Others… regret.” Just like Dominique Okoro.

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” Bill scoffed bitterly as he looked over the water-stained ink, the words had been memorised.

Frank spent his last moments alone, angry at having wasted his life with him, forever stuck in that god forsaken town as if they were the last two people alive. Talk about getting sick of each other.

“Frank’s a rare third type, Bill.” Otis corrected, his light eyes golden in the reflection of the sun. “If he really hated you, ain’t no damned way he would’ve spent his last moment thinkin’ about it.”

Bill laughed dryly, wanting to tell Otis that he didn’t know Frank or that he didn’t need comforting but there was a lump in his throat and he didn’t want to cry in front of Otis. “So why…?” His words were a strangled whisper, reluctant but maybe hopeful that Otis could see something that he couldn’t.

Something to put the feelings of betrayal and self-loathing to rest.

Otis gave a half shrug, stretching his legs and propping his feet up on the coffee table. He was still wearing his boots, Joel would probably kill him later. “Probably figured you’d find him. Didn’t want you to think it was your fault. Maybe he thought you’d find it easier if you could be angry with him instead, forgettin’ someone you hate is a hell of a lot easier than someone you cared about.” As if Frank making Bill hate him would somehow soften the blow.

Whether Otis’ interpretation of Frank’s final words was correct or not, it didn’t change the fact that Frank had chosen to walk away.

Bill inhaled a shaky breath, a whimper barely disguised as he covered his mouth with a jittery hand. “Yeah…” So much for not crying. “That sounds like something stupid he’d do.” Frank had been sensitive too, and for all of their arguing in his final years, he’d only ever fought with Bill because he wanted them to go together.

Otis pushed himself to stand, readjusting his belt. “I’ll get some more beer.” It was a lie, he’d barely drank a third of his bottle but it would give Bill some space.

Bill cleared his throat, wiping his face. “Yeah, I should get going, I got… things to do.” He stood too, setting his half full bottle on the coffee table and tucking the note back into his wallet carefully.

“Alright, just hold on a minute.” Otis told him, heading to the kitchen.

Bill trailed after him. “It’s alright, I’ll see myself out.” He insisted, breaking off at the entry way to get his boots. They were partially laced by the time Otis reappeared, and Bill straightened up as the man held out a brown paper bag to him. “Uh…” Bill’s voice was a little hoarse as he swallowed the lump in his throat, reluctantly accepting the bag but not quite wanting to stick around for much longer.

“Get lost now.” Otis dismissed him without explanation, disappearing back into the kitchen.

Bill didn’t expect anything less, tucking the bag under his arm and opening the door. He felt miserable and somewhat hollow, not exactly having any answers but… maybe this was closure. Really, what it did matter if Frank’s contact was late to meeting him? Frank got bit on his way out of town so he would have never made it to Boston. If he had, Bill might have felt betrayed but Frank would have still been alive and maybe sentimentality would have ultimately led him back to Bill. Not to move back in, but to keep showing up and trying to convince Bill to come with him.

One thing Otis Meyer couldn’t answer anyway was why Frank left in the first place.

Bill could picture the sheepish expression on Frank’s handsome face as he waved at him from behind the barbed wire fences Bill had put up everywhere. Maybe Frank would have taken up a job with Tess and Joel, a good excuse to keep showing up, practically brandishing a brochure for the life they could have together at the Boston QZ.

Bill knew he couldn’t have handled it… but maybe he should have tried, for Frank.

Bill tried to distract himself from the tragic what-ifs by inspecting the contents of the bag Otis had handed him as he walked. His steps slowing as he opened it.

It was full of ripe, red strawberries, like perfect rubies.

“Otis fucking Meyer.” Bill muttered to himself, taking one and slipping it into his mouth. Sweet and slightly sour, much better than the beginner’s project Frank had going in the greenhouse, but it just wasn’t what Bill wanted.

They were a kind compensation nonetheless.

“Did he leave?” Joel came downstairs with his laundry in hand, finding Otis in the kitchen, layering sliced strawberries over the jam swirled cheesecake that had been setting in the fridge.

“Yeah.” Otis replied distractedly.

Joel kissed his cheek as he passed him on the way to the laundry room. “With answers?” And hopefully not a black eye.

“Don’t know about that. Not much I could tell him… not much he asked about.” Otis blinked and turned his head to watch Joel briefly before the man disappeared out of view. “Hey, Joel. This might be a stupid question, but what do you get a newborn? Or their… parents, I guess?”

Joel paused to peer back at him. “Are you serious?”

Otis nibbled a strawberry slice, an attempt to direct his energy into anything other than craving a cigarette. “What? I’ve never exactly had the fucking occasion.” He pointed out. “My brother didn’t want any children, thought they’d turn out like him.” Ironically, so did Otis.

“You reminded me, I’m going to have to find something for Maria. About time her and Tommy decided to let it happen.” Joel realised, sighing as he carried on, dropping his clothes into the hamper and pausing briefly as he noticed the wash basin was full.

The water was murky red, Otis’ nice blue shirt from the morning soaking there in hydrogen peroxide to get the blood out.

“I’m surprised too. Always thought your brother was a family man.” Otis replied.

“Yeah, well…” Joel knew that what happened to Sarah had affected Tommy too, so he didn’t exactly blame him. A few things ran through his head, mostly worry, but also frustration. Why didn’t Otis ever tell him? Was this his blood?

Joel hadn’t even noticed that Otis changed clothes, but even if he had, the natural assumption would have been the sweltering heat of Wyoming’s summer.

Joel moved over to remove the soaked shirt from the basin, catching sight of his cargo pants from that morning and sighing as he grabbed them to put them in the hamper too. Something fell out when he lifted the garment though, clinking lightly as it hit the tiled flooring.

What was it? Joel picked up the golden cylinder, brushing his thumb over the faded label before carefully pulling the cap. Lipstick?

“Joel?”

Otis’ sudden appearance made him jump and he turned awkwardly to face him, holding it up. “I found this in your pocket.” Joel refused to jump to conclusions.

“It was Dorothy’s. Marke swiped it from Janet’s room.” Otis answered easily, moving over to take it.

Joel held it out of reach at the last moment, making Otis pause.

Confusion turned into uncertainty as Joel slid the lipstick into his back pocket. “Seriously, Miller…” Otis retracted his hand slowly. “You didn’t fucking think I-“

Joel silenced him by grabbing his collar and smashing his mouth into his. It was an angry kiss, eliciting a grunt of discomfort from Otis who staggered slightly off balance until Joel’s arm came around him.

Otis wasn’t exactly sure what to feel in that moment but his awkward stance found the stacked boxes at the back of his legs, making him grab onto Joel in an attempt to keep himself from falling.

Joel wasn’t giving him any space though, practically stepping on his toes from his intense approach, chasing his mouth to pour his frustration into him until finally he released him.

Otis stumbled, his face burning with humiliation as he crashed into his new cardboard throne, his hand finding the wall behind him to find some semblance of support as he glared up at the man standing over him. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Miller?”

Joel couldn’t exactly answer that, rubbing his mouth in frustration as he took a deep breath. “Are you alright?” He asked instead, his voice quiet but not out of shame.

Otis stared at him. Joel couldn’t seriously be asking him that right now.

“Your shirt, it was covered in blood. Is it yours?” Joel was naturally worried and his throat tightened at the way Otis glared at him.

“I can handle myself, Joel.” There it was. An emotion, at last. “I’ve never been your priority so you can go fuck yourself, actin’ like you give a damn-“

“That’s not fair, Otis.” Joel interrupted, his own anger rising to meet it. “I’m just worried about you.”

“Ain’t nothin’ fair about this.” Otis scoffed, his eyes falling away from Joel and surprisingly he didn’t push Joel’s hand away when it touched his jaw. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” Joel recognised that look. Otis was ashamed of snapping, but he pushed through.

“I know I ain’t good at talking…” Otis spoke before Joel could push him, taking Joel’s hand but he held on to it instead of pushing him away. “I’m tryin’, Joel.” He never felt the need to try and have anyone understand. His side of the story never mattered before, life just happened to him, people believed whatever the fuck they wanted and it stopped hurting a very long time ago.

But he wanted to try now.

“I know, I’m here.” Joel’s voice softened and he brought his other hand up to gently tousle his hair. “You can collapse into me any time, Otis. I promise I’ll catch you… you won’t fall down again.” His hand caressed along to his scarred cheek, his thumb brushing the jagged scar cutting inwards to the corner of his mouth.

Otis wanted to believe him, if only because he was so damn tired of everything- of being a passenger to his grief, shackled by the noose of loss that only got tighter and tighter around his neck until he was ready to kick the stool out from under his own feet.

“We can cancel dinner tonight?” Joel suggested, wanting nothing more than to hold him.

“No.” Otis declined, turning his head to kiss Joel’s calloused palm. “I need things to feel normal.” He’d been carrying on because he needed to be alright somehow. Turning to face his monster was too much, even if it was always there.

Joel offered a sympathetic smile even though Otis wasn’t looking at him. “Is it normal? Dinner with Tommy and Maria?” He asked, trying to lighten the mood just a little. This was a new stage in their relationship, the next step after acknowledgment.

“Fuck no.” Otis finally exhaled, but he couldn’t bring himself to laugh.

Joel hummed a moment in contemplation before trailing his hand lower, following the scarring down the man’s jaw and the side of his neck, the pads of his fingers brushing the cool metal of the tags and Firefly pendant at his collar before finally reaching the buttons of his Henley shirt.

A silent question was posed.

Otis leaned back slowly against the wall, his head dropping back as he lifted his gaze to Joel. “Right now?” The timing was a little unusual, it was the middle of the day and it felt like Joel might need to rush off at any moment if someone came knocking because that always happened and—

“I want you.” Joel’s confession was sheepish but straightforward and it flustered Otis for some reason.

Otis studied him briefly, his gaze flickering down slowly, admiring Joel’s broad shoulders and strong arms and then finally falling at his belt. He reached there slowly, pushing the leather out of its loop before unfastening the buckle and then untucking Joel’s shirt from the waistband.

“Wait.” Joel took him by the shoulders to stop him a moment, pushing him back slightly so he could get the buttons on the front of his shirt. Three, coconut wood buttons, small but effective as they came undone, and Joel pushed the fabric slightly letting it fall off the man’s shoulders to expose more of his bronze skin. He untucked his dog tags, briefly brushing his finger over the engraved letters that he’d come to recognise blind.

Once, it had been inscribed: Otis Vitali Ackerman. Now the surname had been sanded and buffed, and Joel had replaced it with ‘Meyer’ to the best of his ability but metalwork was never really his forte so the alteration was obvious to anyone who cared to look long enough.

Satisfied, Joel leaned down to kiss Otis, his breath warm as he spoke against his lips. “Do something for me?” He requested.

Otis felt a little exposed having his shirt slipping down his shoulders, but the cool air was pleasant on his skin as he brought his arms up around Joel, threading his fingers into his hair and purposely mussing it up. “Fuck-“ The word was swallowed by Joel’s hungry kisses and he restlessly shifted forward, eager for the affection. “Anything.”

Joel reached into his back pocket, retrieving Dorothy’s lipstick. Muted rose was a good colour.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9: Every Way He Loved

Joel told himself that his excitement was entirely because he was pent up, but it didn’t change the fact that he felt ashamed for being this turned on so easily.

His jeans were bunched at his ankles on the floor, underwear shimmied down just enough but frustratingly limiting the movement of his legs—

He jerked involuntarily as a rough hand stroked him, his sudden movement causing the arm across his neck to tighten slightly to keep him still. “Fuck, Otis, gentle!” He scolded, inhaling a sharp breath through grit teeth as he squirmed against the man.

How did he end up here?

Otis paused, the palm of his hand rolling over the sensitive tip of Joel’s straining cock, his touch lightening until it was just a finger tracing the slit and smearing precum messily across the head. He seemed to contemplate Joel’s request for a moment, or maybe he was letting him catch his breath, feeling the older man’s shaky inhalations in the expansion of his trembling ribcage.

Joel was sat between his legs, victim to an insincere chokehold that he was enjoying a little too much. He knew the man was a masochist for his attention, and Otis loved teasing him because Joel was so damn reactive. Not that he wanted to hurt him.

But Otis could feel him, struggling so wonderfully from what he was doing to him. “You want me to stop?” A soft murmur as an apologetic kiss was pressed to the side of Joel’s neck, lingering for a moment against his jugular to feel his racing pulse.

Joel’s broad back pressed against his front as the man melted into him, panting softly for air and shaking his head lightly. “No, I…” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat before trying again. “I just need a moment… you caught me off guard, that’s all.” He murmured, tilting his head slightly to give him more room.

Otis eased his arm across Joel’s shoulders to make catching his breath easier.

Joel relaxed after a moment, his eyes sweeping down over himself absently. His face burned as he took in the sight of his weeping cock in Otis’ hand, shameless. He didn’t enjoy pain, but this didn’t hurt either, it was just the intensity of the sensation that drove him crazy- it was this man who somehow knew him better than he knew himself, an avalanche of new experiences that Joel had never even stopped to consider. It was fun, and he felt stupid for labelling it as such, but maybe that was what he needed after so many years of being afraid to try anything.

His toes curled slightly as he focused on the feeling of the cool tiles under his feet, his fingers doing the same as he reconnected with his body to try and calm the rush of adrenaline. The lipstick tube was still in his hand, the metal now clammy from how warm his body was and he slowly lifted it with a cautious glance at the man over his shoulder. “You’re not mad about this, are you?” Asking Otis Meyer to put lipstick on would have sent anyone else to a shallow grave, but it had been a joke, albeit in poor taste.

Otis narrowed his eyes at him in an unserious glare. “Askin’ me to doll up for you ‘s a fuckin’ step too far, Joel.” His hand left Joel’s shaft, finding the man’s mouth instead and pushing his fingers in uninvited.

Joel grunted in protest, turning his head away initially but he’d come to obey after a split second, opening his mouth to clean his fingers off. He’d almost forgotten just how intense Otis could be at times. The last few encounters they’d had, Otis had been generous in letting him take lead but then again he’d always been extremely patient with letting Joel do whatever the hell he wanted.

Joel squeezed his eyes shut, rewarded for his obedience with an unhurried caress down his chest, over his ribs and outward to his thigh which tensed and shook slightly when it was squeezed and he felt himself twitch helplessly. The way Otis touched him wasn’t exactly possessive, nor was it entirely reverent, rather it was a wonderful combination of the two.

Otis found him attractive and that was still something he couldn’t get over. It was nice, for lack of a better word in the immediate moment but you’d have to excuse Joel for being overwhelmed in the arms of a very hot, ex-soldier who turned him to putty in his hands every time.

Joel tried to focus as Otis’ fingers left his mouth, licking his lips to remove any trace evidence before turning his head to kiss the man.

Otis stopped him though, turning his head away and slipping the lipstick free from Joel’s now lax hand.

“You are mad.” Joel accused, frustrated at being refused but equally distracted by the man uncapping the lipstick.

“I ain’t mad.” Otis assured, resting his chin on Joel’s shoulder again and kissing it before sighing. “You asked, and I said no. That’s all there is to it.” He didn’t want Joel to walk on eggshells around him or shy away from trying new things. He offered him a lazy smile as their eyes met and he squeezed Joel around his middle in some kind of hug. “You’re a damn pervert, Joel Miller, but I’m glad you ask.”

Joel wanted to argue that he was in fact not a pervert but it was a moot point. “You should ask too.” He tried to encourage as he relaxed into him again, kissing his cheek.

Otis side-eyed him, amusement evident in his gaze but he said nothing for a moment winding the lipstick up to inspect the colour. “Well… you wore my ring all day, so I already got what I asked for.” He whispered, his voice a low rumble against Joel’s ear. He took Joel’s hand and lacing their fingers together to feel the familiar sensation of the ring even if it was on Joel’s finger instead of his.

Joel had forgotten about it, and no one else seemed to notice. “I… honestly forgot that I was wearing it.” He admitted, flushing again as he looked down at the silver band. It was a simple thing, and he briefly wondered if Otis had the other half to it somewhere.

“I know you wanted somethin’ more romantic than this, but I didn’t know what to do.” Otis drawled, sounding almost bored though he was anything but that. He brought the lipstick to Joel’s inner thigh, smudging the makeup against his skin in a short line.

Joel grabbed his arm but doing nothing to stop him. “How about not getting lipstick all over me?” He protested, watching his hands closely, anticipating every little move.

Otis smirked into Joel’s shoulder, a dimple appearing. “Now you’re complainin’?” He set it into Joel’s held hand, his attention returning to the man’s neglected shaft and proceeding to stroke him with frustratingly slow tugs. “I ain’t Tess, I’m sure she would’ve said yes...” He was being unfair, whispering against Joel’s ear like that.

“She never wore any.” Joel huffed, embarrassed to be having this conversation altogether, but he found himself listening anyway, half-lidded eyes drawing hazy pictures of the woman on her knees— rouged lips leaving scandalous imprints on his thigh, kissing all his scars as she tucked her hair back. And he’d hold it back for her, and tell her how beautiful she looked and she’d reply with a coy smile that he was only saying it because she was- in her crass mannerism- ‘sucking his dick’. “She wasn’t any good at it either. Being romantic, I mean.” He smiled and blinked away the little fantasy, wanting to be here instead.

“I guess I’ll have to learn.” Otis let him go when Joel patted his arm, watching the man as he stood to pull off his shirt and kick his jeans to one side.

“Another time maybe.” Joel replied, relieved to be out of his clothes at last and stooping down to unclip Otis’ belt and unzipping his pants.

Otis leaned back to give him more room, doing nothing to help nor hinder his progress. “What are you doing, Joel?”

“What do you think?” Joel countered, trying to hold on to his bravado as he eased himself onto his knees.

“Not like this.” Otis finally caught his wrist, stopping him and leaning forward to kiss Joel softly.

Joel wanted to protest that it was fine, but for just that one minute he focused on nothing more than the sensation of his lips against his own, brushing tenderly and then a slip of the tongue which Joel eagerly accepted. He hummed quietly, satisfied to be present, and just inhaled as Otis broke away.

Before he’d even comprehended what was happening, Otis took him by the arms to pull him to his feet, guiding him gently out of the laundry room in between increasingly heated kisses that had Joel breathless in mere seconds.

Joel had to pause at the stairs, refusing to let go of Otis’ hand as they climbed up to the bedroom and again the kisses started until finally Joel dropped into the soft, cool sheets of his bed. The world faded back in to focus like watercolours bleeding across a canvas, sunshine spilling in bright from the windows making for a much welcome change of scenery to the dim, cluttered laundry room.

Joel smiled as Otis leaned over him, the bed sinking slightly with his added weight. “Hey, you.” He greeted, bringing his hands to rest on the man’s hips, caressing slowly under his shirt.

“Hey yourself.” Otis braced his good arm above Joel’s head, leaning in to steal one more kiss.

Joel welcomed the affection, but his attention was elsewhere, his finger hooking into the open collar of Otis’ shirt, pulling it down a fraction more to expose his chest. He moved his hand from under his shirt again, groping his pectorals unabashedly.

“That bad, huh?” Otis laughed against his mouth, unable to focus as he dropped his gaze to watch Joel’s greedy hand. He tugged lightly on the chain of his brother’s Firefly pendant, unfastening it to set it carefully aside on the nightstand, out of the way.

“You’re a good looking man, Otis. I can’t help it.” Joel’s confession was a shy whisper, though his touch was anything but that, his thumb pressing into a nipple to draw the man’s attention back.

Otis hadn’t wanted Joel to kneel on the tiles, but his boyfriend had entirely forgotten what he’d promised just a minute ago about giving him his mouth. “You’re so damn needy. What do I do with you?” An exhaled laugh. Otis didn’t really mind Joel’s particular interest, it wasn’t like he was sensitive. His hand moved between Joel’s legs, sliding his briefs down again to touch him. “… you’re so fucking hard.” A few kisses and a little stroking?

“Focus, Meyer.” Joel nagged, propping himself up and yanking Otis’ shirt down, his mouth latching onto the man’s chest.

Otis tensed involuntarily at the unexpected graze of teeth, his fingers curling into the sheets as he bit back a groan. “Joel- what the fuck are you doing now?” He complained.

“Trying something…” Joel mouthed against his skin, working on pulling the man’s pants down. “I’ve been reading.”

Otis exhaled a laugh that was lost in a soft breath as Joel palmed him through his briefs. “I don’t even wanna know.” He decided that Joel’s questionable research didn’t matter one way or another, allowing him to roll him over.

Joel’s hand came to chin, the older man now leaning over him with the kind of smile that would make most people weak. “You’re not very good at sitting still, are you?” Amusement crinkled his eyes as he pushed his head up, baring his throat for kisses.

Otis tried to relax, dropping his head back as prompted. “That’s an understatement.” He didn’t deny it, but Joel was pushing his luck forcing him to do nothing when he was so restless. An attempt to touch the man hovering over him got his hand grabbed though, being pulled firmly up and pinned above his head. This fucker— a complaint died in a frustrated groan as Joel kissed him much more gently in contrast.

Joel had the sense not to do the same to his right arm, on account of his injury. “Let me just take care of you for once.” He pleaded quietly, tracing the scar on his mouth with his tongue before pushing it in.

“You already do” Otis exhaled, his pinned hand clenching, raised veins visible underneath taut skin, stretched over tense muscle. Joel’s kisses were too damn good, urging him to surrender despite his demons but it wasn’t quite enough considering how neglected they were the past two months.

Joel’s tongue pushed against the underside of his scarred one, finding new ridges and hidden nerves to tease. He succeeded in eliciting a sound that was almost a moan, feeling himself twitch in response.

Otis’ free hand found his side, caressing sensually around to his back and staying there. He relaxed just a fraction, too distracted by Joel practically tongue-fucking him to care about anything else because this was an acceptable reward for letting him pin him. For now.

Joel let go of his jaw, his hand working its way down over his collarbone to slip into his open shirt again, squeezing his pec softly before working his fingers over a nipple. This time Otis did react, jolting slightly and digging his nails into Joel’s back for just a brief second although Joel failed to get another moan since the poor man was breathless, his exhalation breathy and staggered.

Otis flustered, turning his head into Joel’s shoulder for lack of a comfort pillow in range.

Joel smiled, resisting the instinct to apologise and instead kissing his temple. “You’re cute, you know that?”

“Fuck off, Miller.” Otis huffed, his tired eyes following Joel as the man shifted to sit up. He caught his hand when he made to withdraw though, loosely holding his wrist. “Where are you going?” He asked.

“I’m here, just grabbing a few things.” Joel assured, sweeping his bangs from his brow and kissing his hair.

Otis shut his eyes, releasing Joel and taking a moment to breathe. The sunshine spilling into the room was bright even behind his closed eyelids, but for all its brightness things were quiet.

Joel opened the nightstand to find the lube and the packet of condoms he’d put somewhere. “Are you tired?” It seemed a bit of a silly question but it was relevant for how far they should go right now. They still had dinner with Tommy and Maria in the evening, and the last thing Joel wanted was to overdo it.

“We can take it easy.” Otis replied, finally shifting to get rid of his clothes, starting with lifting his hips to get rid of his pants.

Joel would draw the curtains and switch on the lamp beside the bed instead. Not that anyone could see inside, but the ambient lighting was far more romantic in lieu of candles on a hot day.

Otis didn’t pay it much mind, surveying the bruising on his stomach from where Bill had punched him earlier as he lifted his shirt. The area was delicate but nothing was broken as far as he could tell.

“Jesus.” Joel had only just seen it now, delicately touching the red and purple blotches to inspect for anything that might be broken underneath.

“Looks worse than it is.” Otis dismissed, tossing his shirt somewhere before taking Joel by the hips to pull him closer. He kissed along the trial of hair leading down to his navel, diverting briefly to his hip bone while he pulled his underwear down.

Joel couldn’t help but laugh, ruffling the man’s hair. “Is your mouth lonely?” He teased, his hand moving under his chin to push his head up so he could see his face.

“Very.” Otis replied, turning his head to kiss Joel’s palm and inner wrist over his pulse while taking his neglected cock in his hand to stroke it back to full hardness.

The contrast between the two actions had Joel standing to attention in no time, though as tempting as it was to just cram his member into the Devil’s starved mouth, he’d promised himself he’d take his time and do things a little differently.

Otis kissed the softened contours of Joel’s stomach as the man released him, one kiss away from taking him into his mouth when Joel suddenly grabbed him again. “Oi-“ His protested died as something sweet was pushed past his lips, his teeth almost biting down on the cherry flavoured candy until he realised it was a lollipop. “Where the fuck did you get this from?” It was sudden and unexpected, and he grabbed the stick to pull it out for inspection.

“You want a cigarette, so I’m offering you a substitute. I got it on my way back.” Joel explained, taking his shoulders and pushing him gently to encourage him to lie back into the pillows.

Otis blinked up at him in slight confusion, more about the timing than the fact Joel had gone out of his way to get him something.

“Relax.” Joel laughed, bringing his hand under him to encourage him to lift his hips so he could get rid of his boxers. “Finish that first and then you can worry about me.”

“Okay.” Otis parted his legs to accommodate Joel in the space between them as the man moved closer, the candy clacking against his teeth as he bit down on the plastic stick. He grunted lightly as Joel grabbed him by the hips, pulling him down slightly to force him to sink into the pillows instead of staying upright.

Joel kissed his cheek, uncapping the lube to pour some into his hand before finally touching him. “Last night, making all those plans felt… good.” He confessed, perhaps a little out of the blue but it didn’t really matter. “And I know we didn’t really get to do much, but… I’d like to keep talking about that kind of thing. Make plans together from time to time.” About having things to look forward to, some kind of future together.

Otis stretched an arm over his head, draping it over the top of the pillow comfortably. He didn’t know what was with Joel and his timing today, but it just made Joel calling him cute all the more ironic. Pulling the candy from his mouth, he brought his hand to the back of Joel’s neck, pulling him down so he could kiss him softly, his voice ever so quiet as he spoke. “Sure thing.”

Two simple words, but his agreement squeezed Joel’s heart and he smiled into the second kiss, pushing his tongue into the man’s mouth to sample the cherry sweetness.

Otis tensed a fraction as Joel’s hand began to move over him again, the action sloppy and a little heavy towards the tip. He humoured him though, his own hand moving to help guide Joel a little, but he loved him for trying nonetheless. As long as he kept kissing him it didn’t matter anyway.

“God-“ Joel broke the kiss abruptly, leaning into his neck instead. “I’m trying to hold back, but I’ve been thinking about you all day.” He confessed in a whisper, for once not shying away from saying it.

Otis laughed, not the reaction Joel had expected, but he seemed to relax under Joel as the older man sat back to study him. “Well, hell…” Otis slid the lollipop back into his mouth, his gaze focused on Joel’s hand. “I ain’t askin’ you to hold back, darlin’. I missed you too.”

Joel kissed his way down his body, pouring his energy into whispered appreciations against his skin.

Otis’ fingers sifted into his hair, mussing it up unapologetically. “You gonna make me beg?” His free hand came down to guide Joel to where he needed his attention most, eager to make up for lost time.

“Oh, now, that’s something I’d love to hear.” Joel chuckled, contemplating teasing him more. Unheld, the man’s shaft rested heavy on his thigh, half hard and yet somehow intimidating. The past two attempts at a blowjob on Joel’s part had been messy and poorly coordinated, and he just never knew where exactly to angle his head to make it easier.

Otis’ hold lightened on him, hand gently caressing his cheek. “Hey, you don’t have to-“ He began to say.

“I want to.” Joel insisted, glancing up at the man with a sheepish smile. “I just… I feel like I can’t get a handle on this yet.” He admitted after a moment, leaning into his touch.

Otis met his smile with a tired one, wanting to kiss him some more but they’d get nowhere if they spent the whole afternoon making out. “Want me to show you?” He offered, his voice a sultry rasp that had Joel nodding dumbly. “Open your mouth for me.”

Joel braced a hand on his defined abdomen, using his other to straighten his member so he could put it in his mouth.

“You don’t need to take it all the way, use your tongue.” Otis instructed, smoothing his hair back for him.

Joel’s face flushed slightly. He didn’t think Otis was being serious about ‘teaching’ but he’d gladly listen to him talk about anything as long as he got to hear his voice. He tried to push his tongue against him, mouthing along the side of his shaft in lieu of trying to swallow him so soon.

“That’s it.” Otis hummed, more interested in watching Joel’s determined but nervous fumbling than anything else.

Joel continued with his tongue, following a vein down to the base and laying a kiss there.

Otis took his hand from his stomach, guiding it to work the head. “Here, easier to do both.”

Joel found a rhythm eventually, slow and drawn out but steady, and he waited until he was decently wet before finally taking him into his warm mouth and sucking experimentally. He felt him twitch in response, the muscles in his thighs tensing visibly with the urge to thrust.

“Good- tilt your head, it’ll be easier.” Otis whispered breathily, encouraging Joel to angle his head in such a way that he was pushing against his cheek instead of the back of his throat. There was no need to go too deep, and he really didn’t want Joel to tax his jaw- there were kisses to be had later, after all.

Joel flicked his tongue along the underside of the head, drawing a shuddering inhalation from the man that had his stomach tighten with arousal. Umber eyes turned up to take the sight of his boyfriend in, hungry to see him unravel under his attention. Otis looked a little flushed, the rise and fall of his chest just a fraction more laboured. There was a light frown of concentration etched into his features as he watched Joel with a focused intensity, his greys eyes dark with lust.

Joel wanted more though, he wanted to wrestle away his composure, make it hard for him to hold back. So, he would double his effort, bringing his hand to massage his sac briefly before moving further under to push against the perineum.

Otis bit back a sound, hand gripping the pillow behind his head, his hip rising a fraction despite his efforts to remain still. “Joel…” He breathed the man’s name in between soft pants, the definition of his stomach deepening with a laboured inhalation.

Joel felt a rush of heat at the reaction he’d elicited, pushing his fingers outward in a massaging motion. It was probably a good thing he didn’t try to deep throat the man, because Otis was straining not to move again. Joel decided to have some mercy on him, finally releasing him from his mouth and watching as his hard cock dribbled with saliva and precum, making a shameful mess against his stomach as it was denied release.

Otis needed a moment to calm down, breathing hard as he dropped his head back into the pillows, tortured by Joel’s sudden refrain. “Fuck.” He tried to find some semblance of his shattered composure, his hand mindlessly drifting down his body but stopping short as his fingers glossed over his dog tags, closing around the cool metal, maybe to ground himself with something familiar since Joel was out of his immediate reach.

“What? You want to finish already?” Joel teased, kissing his inner thigh and then his lower abdomen where veins had risen visibly with the man’s racing pulse.

Joel admired the strength of his body, the signs of life, endurance. He wanted to love everything about him and somehow that desire became more soothing than alarming as time went on.

“Fuck you.” Otis grunted, refusing to look at him as he moved his hand again, this time brushing his hair back in the way he usually did when he was stressed. “I’m not even close.” He denied jokingly, biting on the lollipop in poorly disguised frustration.

Joel loved that about him too, a laugh catching in his throat as he shook his head at him. “Sure.” He kissed his way up the man’s chest and neck until he reached his lips, plucking the now empty plastic from his mouth and setting it aside for later disposal. “Patience.” He whispered, pushing his tongue in and kissing him ardently. The taste of cherry was stronger now, although Joel did his best not to over indulge when Otis was still on the edge.

Otis was pleasantly distracted by Joel’s kisses though, relaxing under him after another minute and threading his fingers into the older man’s hair. Each of Joel’s kisses was met softly, turning down the heat just a fraction to let it simmer, to be in the moment. He would have loved nothing more than to remind Joel how this had all started, but for all of his teasing, he couldn’t bring himself to actually be rough with him.

Joel Miller was so terribly handsome and wonderful, and that made Otis want to cherish him and spoil him instead of taking out his frustration on him.

Joel broke away after a moment, smiling down at Otis with a slight nervousness.

This too made Otis struggle to be cruel to him, and he cupped his chin, kissing his cheek as if it might somehow whittle away his anxiety. “What is it?” He prompted, and kissed his beard and under his jaw, his hand untangling from Joel’s grey streaked locks and caressing down his spine.

Joel took a breath, easing himself into the man’s arms and closing his eyes for a moment. “Sorry.” He felt Otis wince slightly from the pressure on his bruised ribs, but his arm came around Joel to keep him against him still. Joel could argue about letting him go, but really he didn’t want to move and he trusted that Otis wouldn’t be quiet about it if he got too heavy. “It’s… nothing, really…” He didn’t know exactly how to put it into words, focusing on the sensation of Otis’ mouth against his jugular. “Sometimes it just doesn’t feel real. You know?”

Otis hummed against his throat before relaxing back into the pillows, both arms now wrapped around Joel. “Which part? Jackson?” He asked, his voice quiet as he studied the man, barely able to keep his eyes from dropping to his lips. “Or us?” This second question was a whisper, as if it was their secret to keep. Or maybe he was afraid of spooking Joel with the concept of a relationship again.

Joel took a moment to think about his answer before sighing. “All of it. I mean… Dina’s kid is almost like my own grandbaby, right? Meeting Ellie, Jackson…” It was like he was getting a second chance. When he’d lost Sarah, he’d been shattered, and while nothing could fill that deep crevice in his heart nor replace his baby girl- the world or God or fate or something had given him Ellie instead. “It’s not all blood family, but… I’m lucky- and grateful.” He reflected. Having Tommy was his kindest blessing through the end of the world.

Otis exhaled softly, cupping Joel’s cheek and kissing his mouth delicately. There was a tender smile on his scarred lips as he studied Joel’s tired features, the lines that had deepened with time as he grew older, the white in his beard and hair. Time had been kind to him. “It’s real, Joel.” He assured, his voice getting even quieter as he continued, “And Ellie might grow up and move away, but she’ll always need you. Hell… I need you.”

Joel pushed himself up to capture his lips, the kiss lingering for a long moment before he rested his forehead against his, nuzzling him lightly in some semblance of an Eskimo kiss. “I kept you waiting a little too long, huh?” He whispered, pushing his legs further apart before reaching for the lube on the nightstand.

“Hey-“ Otis shifted slightly under him, moving his arm above his head and out of the way. “Not what I meant, but I ain’t complainin’.” His laughter died in a strangled groan as Joel squeezed him.

Joel peppered his throat with kisses, his favour returned with a hand closing around his shaft and stroking him until he was nearly at that edge, his breath hot on Otis’ neck as he struggled to focus on his own task. “If you keep going, I’ll cum.” He grunted, not sure if he wanted to throw caution to the wind or stick by the fact he’d been avoiding it on purpose.

Otis stopped, his hand squeezing at the base which really did nothing for Joel other than frustrate him more. Otis kissed his cheek, a soft laugh vibrating warmly against his skin before he claimed his mouth, pushing his tongue in before Joel could protest to the sweet torture.

Joel was already breathless though, unable to withstand the kiss much longer and dropping his head into the pillow beside Otis, red all the way to his ears.

Otis laughed again, kissing his hair and just under his ear. “Only fair when you do it, huh?” He husked, his voice a low rasp. He was paying Joel back for edging him earlier, and now that Joel was a trembling mess, he wanted to sink his teeth into him more. He brought his arm around his back to keep him against him, his other hand blindly feeling around for the lube before flicking the cap off to coat his fingers.

Joel was just about rebuilding his composure when he felt Otis’ hand slip down his back a little too far south than what he was expecting. “Hey, when did we agree I was…” He didn’t know what the term was, but the feeling of fingers circling back there was one he’d forgotten.

Otis hummed, pretending to think about it. “You can’t expect me to bend over for you every time, Miller.” It was supposed to be a one-time thing, but clearly Joel had forgotten.

“You bend over just fine.” Joel countered, bracing his hands against the bed to push himself up, but Otis’ arm kept him from escaping. “How badly do you want me?” His grumbling softened as he looked down at the man under him.

“Badly doesn’t even begin to describe it.” Otis replied with some amusement, his pale eyes flickering up to meet Joel’s gaze before he offered him a lazy smile. “I’ll be gentle, I promise—“ He barely got to finish before Joel kissed him to shut him up.

Joel pulled away after a moment and sighed as he traced the scar along the man’s temple. “You always are. It’s kind of annoying.” He joked lightly, trying to relax.

“Fuck. I never heard anyone complain I’m too soft.” Otis had a momentary crisis but Joel laughed at him for it and kissed his forehead.

“Yeah, well… I never knew Otis Meyer could ever be soft.” Joel confessed. “It’s not a bad thing, probably… the best thing, actually.” For his age, and for his heart, even if his pride wouldn’t admit it.

Otis scoffed at him. “I have other redeeming qualities.”

“Like what?” Joel chose to be difficult.

“First of all, fuck you.” Otis replied flatly, rolling him over to get on top of him instead.

Joel grunted as his back hit the bed, dragging the pillows under his head to get comfortable. “You’re already doing that.” He pointed out, cracking a cheeky smile. “What else?”

Otis pushed his bangs back, folding his legs under himself as he leaned over him. “That’s about it.” He concluded nonchalantly, moving his free hand to caress along Joel’s thigh to the back of his knee. A second finger was pushed inside gently, remaining shallow but rubbing inward.

Joel tried not to tense, needing a moment to reacquaint himself with the sensation after so long.

“But…” Otis’ tone softened, leaning down to kiss Joel’s scarred thigh. “You’re still my boyfriend, so I must be doing somethin’ right.” He pushed his fingers in more when he felt Joel relax.

“It’s just your pretty face.” Joel teased, stroking his own hardness to chase that light tingle whenever Otis pushed against the concentration of nerves at his prostate. He didn’t know if he could ever get used to that feeling, but it wasn’t a bad one, far from it actually. His free hand caught Otis’ chain as the tags brushed his chest, tugging it to pull Otis down so he could kiss him. “And this devilish tongue.” He whispered heatedly as he snogged him.

Otis grabbed his wrist to prevent him from breaking the chain, but did it really matter? Otto’s Firefly pendant was all he had left of his brother, and if he hadn’t met Joel again, he would have never gotten it back. In comparison, his army tags were just some kind of comfort, easily forgotten the minute Joel was anywhere near him.

Joel Miller could make him forget his own name and how to breathe too—

“Fuck, you’re killing me.” He rasped breathily, barely able to get the words out without Joel devouring him.

Joel hummed, knocking something or the other off the nightstand as he blindly felt around for a condom, tearing the packet open haphazardly and spilling the foils everywhere. The more he kissed him, the more he forgot his sensibilities but who needed those anyway. “Do you even want it?” He complained, disgruntled that he had to stop to focus for a full half minute just to roll it on for him.

“Want, no.” Otis kissed his face in compensation. “But you’ll be glad for it later.” Easier to clean up.

Joel relented, accepting that he was right of course, and making the full grand sacrifice of a further minute to roll the rubber on for him, adding some more lube.

Otis brought a hand under Joel to encourage him to lift himself so he could slide a pillow underneath him, massaging his hip bone gently with his thumb. “Not too hard on your hip is it?”

Joel shifted slightly before spreading his legs again, not sure if he could ever stop being embarrassed about being exposed like this. “It’s okay.” His hip didn’t feel any pressure right now, but that could change later.

Otis took his hand, kissing his knuckles as he positioned himself, carefully inching in. “Fuck.” He cursed softly, stopping short and guiding Joel’s hand to his stomach. “Push against me if you need me to slow down, okay?” He was letting Joel control the depth even if he was the one moving.

“Okay.” Joel tried to breathe deeply, his throat feeling tight as his gaze trailed down the man’s body to where his hand now rested. Valleys and ridges, the deep lines of his defined hips, thighs that he just wanted to sink his teeth into- Joel was insanely attracted to this man and it was exclusive because he definitely never admired those traits in another man.

“Joel.” Otis complained slightly, bracing his hands on the bed either side of him. He wanted to move but Joel hadn’t eased his push against his bruised abdomen.

Joel’s umber eyes flicked up to his face, the knot in his stomach tightening at the heat of Otis’ gaze on him. He wanted him. Joel’s gaze fell away, his face flushing as he tried to focus. “Sorry, just… a little longer.” He’d become tense and there was a conscious effort required in relaxing his lower body until it didn’t feel like an impossible task. “Slowly, slowly.” He pleaded breathily, easing his hand to let him move.

Otis watched Joel closely, mirroring his breathing subconsciously and stopping when it seemed like Joel might get overwhelmed. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” It wasn’t as bad as Joel thought it would be so far, though the near non-existent pace did help. The feeling was one of gradual fullness, and he didn’t know how much more of that he could handle. “Wait!” He gasped suddenly, pushing against him when he felt a slight pressure resonating behind his groin.

“Breathe, darlin’, I’m not even half way.” Otis almost laughed, though it was more a nervous reaction which was very unlike him. He was getting restless, his own body tense with all his focus on Joel.

“Hell- there’s more?” Joel whined, not sure if he wanted the feeling to intensify. “Sorry, just another minute.” He felt bad making him wait.

“Hey, you’re doing fine.” Otis took his other hand, kissing along his wrist to his inner elbow and continuing to massage his hip. “It’s okay, I can wait.” He’d waited two months, what was one more minute.

Joel took another breath before moving his hand to take the one at his hip. “Come here.” He requested, wanting him closer.

Otis leaned in as close as he could, drawing in a shaky inhalation at the heat he felt.

Joel groaned with some satisfaction as Otis finally kissed him, his hand- restless- catching the man’s tags again and worrying the cool metal in his clammy palm.

Otis’ now free hand found Joel’s neglected member, giving it a few gentle strokes and gradually building a light pace, managing a couple more inches before Joel was too breathless.

Joel was almost mortified with how aware he was of the heavy cock pressing flush against his prostate, feeling like it was somehow sending little tremors right through his insides to his navel and the tip of his shaft— and then Otis kept running his thumb there and Joel’s shameless cock was dribbling so wantonly in response. He closed his eyes as if it might hide his embarrassment but it had the opposite effect, the sensations that much more intense. “Otis…”

His name couldn’t have been sweeter from Joel’s lips, and he swallowed the man’s moan hungrily as he kissed him, rolling his hips lazily to keep himself from going mad.

The motion made Joel’s toes curl, his hips jolting lightly with every push, nails raising angry red lines along Otis’ back. “Oh- fuck, Otis, I feel close already.” He would have been too stubborn to admit it if he was thinking straight, but right now he was desperate not to end it so quickly.

“Sorry.” Otis exhaled a sultry laugh that made Joel feel all kinds of things in his stomach but butterflies fluttered their wings far too gently to capture it. “Can you hold on a little longer?” He released his cock to give him a chance, bringing his arms around him to hold him.

Joel didn’t know if that helped, but it certainly didn’t help his heart which felt like it was the beating prisoner of his ribcage, thrumming so strong that he felt almost dizzy with how deeply he breathed because of it. He clung to Otis, mouthing apologies into his scarred shoulder, and hazily trying to remember how to function, wanting to do something to make him feel even half as good but all he could think about was kissing him.

Otis was too drunk on his feelings for this man in his arms to care about gratification. It was all soft caresses and slow, sensual sex, and that was fine. “You’re amazing, Joel.” The words were whispered ever so quietly as he touched his forehead to his, his heated gaze watching Joel’s mouth hungrily.

Joel didn’t know if he felt amazing. He felt hot and bothered, and he felt like he might fall apart at the seams if Otis continued to tease him in the space between too much and not enough. “I love this too.” The confession was vague, though he meant this gentleness despite the violence. He shuddered as Otis grabbed his chin, pushing his head up.

“Well…” Otis leaned in close, the air between them shared just inches away from a kiss. “I love everything about you.” He said it now because Joel couldn’t stop him and he knew that was unfair but when did Otis Meyer ever play by the rules.

“Really?” Joel’s cheeks blossomed with colour, and he wanted to reprimand him for the timing, but Otis wasn’t giving him a chance to think because his hand started to move over him again and his thrusts became just that little bit more intense. “Keep talking, fuck-“

Otis exhaled a laugh, shifting back to straighten his spine so he could have some more leverage to move. “I love your stubbornness, and the way you wear flannels like it’s your damn responsibility to represent the fucking south, and your obsession with coffee, and how you have a favourite mug.” He could tell him everything he loved about him, but he didn’t think they had enough hours in the day for that.

Joel felt a shudder trail up his spine, and suddenly his whole body felt like it was being pulled inward, focusing on the pleasure at his core, building just below his navel. He was dripping like crazy, dropping his head back against the pillow and gasping one last, desperate breath before his hip jolted, the knot in his stomach unravelling sharply and sending spasms right to his extremities.

“Jesus, fuck-“ Otis narrowly avoided getting kneed in the stomach by the poor man melting underneath him, Joel’s instinct to escape before the feeling pushed the border of pleasure understandable if a little sudden. Otis pulled out of him carefully, helping him turn on his side and moving the pillow from under his hip to let him lie down more comfortably. “You alright?”

Joel groaned, covering his face briefly with his hand as the sensation slowly ebbed away, heat pulsating still in his stomach but the tension left and there was nothing but little tingles of satisfaction. “Let’s not… do that again.” He decided once he’d recovered, his voice a little hoarse for the sudden dryness of his mouth.

“Which part?” Otis laughed, leaning over him and idly massaging his hip bone to alleviate any soreness.

Joel grunted, turning his head to look over his shoulder at him as he contemplated his answer. “You don’t finish doing it like this.” He complained, pushing himself to roll over but the best he could do was lay on his back, his chest rising with a deep inhalation to fight off the tiredness that threatened to settle into his bones.

“Don’t worry.” Otis shifted to sit beside him, bringing an arm around the man to encourage him to lean into his side. “I’ll give you a few minutes.” He promised in a playful whisper.

Joel sighed, happily burying his face into the man’s chest for a couple of minutes while he caught his breath. And then he paused. “Wait… what am I getting a few minutes for?” He asked, still flushed.

“We’re not done, Joel.” Otis pointed out, as if that should have been obvious and it really it should have because he was still hard.

Joel leaned back to stare at him. “… you’re serious.”

“Should’ve thought about it before you decided to ignore me for two months.” Otis countered jokingly, grabbing his jaw to turn his head as if to appraise him, a devilishly handsome smirk dimpling his unscarred cheek.

“I didn’t ignore you.” Joel protested, grabbing his wrist. “You can… use my mouth, I don’t want to walk funny at dinner.” He grumbled, embarrassed at the thought of telegraphing his private affair.

“Dumbass.” Otis laughed at him, kissing his cheek. Joel couldn’t possibly believe that he would seriously fuck him silly when he was obviously exhausted. “Only thing I want from your mouth is to hear you say you love me.” His tone was light, not quite teasing. There was a melancholy in his gaze, not fear or wariness.

It was like he already knew that Joel did somehow, but for all the laughter and distraction, Otis Meyer’s heart was still in pieces from everything that happened.

“I do.” Joel assured, the words barely audible.

It was good enough for Otis though, his expression softening into something more tender as he smiled at him and then leaned in slowly to kiss him one more time. “I’ll get a bath runnin’.”

Joel held onto him to keep him near. “What about you?” He asked quietly.

Otis’ smile pulled into an amused smirk and he moved to straddle Joel, leaning his good arm on the headboard. “You gonna take care of me, darlin’?”

“I’d… like to.” Joel swallowed hard, nodding as he shifted himself, placing his hands on the man’s waist. “Very much.” He didn’t know how was it still possible for him to be this aroused, but it probably helped that his boyfriend knew just how attractive he was. The damn devil.

Otis took one of Joel’s hands to guide it to his member, encouraging him to touch him whenever he pleased. And when Joel finally took the initiative, he’d cup his face and push his head back so he could lean over him and kiss him, pushing his tongue into his mouth.

Joel hummed, his eyes focused on something a little more interesting. “I need to have you ride me again.” He whispered heatedly, his free hand moving to Otis’ neck. “Maybe tonight?”

Otis broke away slightly, dropping his gaze to watch Joel’s hand as it moved down. Of course the lecher was after his chest, the expected grope soon following. “What happened to not wantin’ Tommy to know I fucked you?” He grabbed Joel by the jaw, forcing his head up again to make eye contact.

Joel had the audacity to look sheepish. “Not sure how this and that are the same.” He admitted, holding his gaze.

“Well, if you keep lookin’ at me like that, everyone will know.” Otis teased, his voice dropping to a sultry whisper as Joel grabbed him firmly by the waist to pull him closer, the man’s hot mouth worshiping his bruised stomach on its way down.

“Let them.” Joel replied, taking him into his mouth at last.

Otis grunted, tilting his head to watch him as he worked, ever so eager to please him and yet Joel still thought he had anything to atone for by not vocalising those three little words.

Fuck that standard. Otis didn’t need it, Joel had told him in many, many other ways.

:/ 1 Hour Later.

Joel sighed as he sunk lower into the bath at last, letting himself enjoy the warm fuzzy feeling even if he would have preferred to spend the rest of the afternoon in bed, enjoying said feelings in a particular person’s muscular arms.

Said person had chosen a shower over a bath soak though.

“Why don’t you come have a soak for a little while?” He asked, his gaze following Otis as the man passed the open doorway, still trying to pick something appropriate to wear to dinner. Joel never thought he’d see Otis ever quite so out of his element, but apparently the end of the world suited him better than having an evening meal with his would-be in-laws.

It dawned on Joel that Otis likely hadn’t been exaggerating the lack of occasions in his life before the apocalypse. There likely were no fond memories of birthdays or the holidays or family events, hell, probably very few road trips considering he’d been stuck as his brother’s carer since virtually forever.

“Your bathtub ain’t big enough for both of us.” Otis paused in the doorway briefly, seeming to consider something he might have forgotten before disappearing again.

Joel looked at the tub, mentally calculating the space it would likely take to fit two grown men comfortably. Minus one leg, there was enough space, as long as someone didn’t mind sitting in the other’s lap. It likely wouldn’t be comfortable for long though. “Otis?” He called him back though.

“Yeah?” He reappeared, wearing dark jeans which fit the casual occasion better than combat pants at least. He was still trying to decide on a shirt though.

“I know you’d rather die than wear a flannel but I do have other shirts, you know. You should borrow the blue button up, would probably suit you more.” Joel decided to put him out of his misery, though he knew the agitation was likely not related to dress choice and he didn’t have anymore lollipops to give him.

He was honestly a little proud of him. Otis hadn’t asked him for another cigarette yet.

“Now Tommy really will know.” Otis pointed out, throwing him a playful smile as he disappeared again.

“Not like he doesn’t.” Joel sighed, shaking his head and idly massaging his bad leg while waiting.

“It’s a little tight.” Otis returned to the bathroom with the aforementioned shirt on. It was tight in places, needing the top buttons open, but it worked just fine since he wore a black vest underneath. “You sure I can borrow it?”

“It’s not a big deal.” Joel dismissed, appraising him with a smile. “Actually looks good on you.”

“Thanks, I guess.” Otis rolled the sleeves up as high as they could go before they became a little too restricting on his forearms. “I think I finally figured out what to get Maria.” He admitted, stepping over to the mirror to fix his hair. It was still damp so a little bit of styling mousse would keep it from drying out in the humid summer air.

“You’re still thinking about that?” Joel continued to watch him with passive interest. “I thought you didn’t like her.”

Otis hummed. “I don’t hate her.” She just needed to learn to keep her nose out of his business. “Tommy don’t deserve me treatin’ her badly though.”

Joel found his phrasing strange. “Is this about the whole thing with your… with John Ackerman?” He backtracked a little on calling the man a ‘father’, because he hardly deserved the label of person let alone a dad. And that was Joel’s opinion without really knowing the details of what he did. “You can’t blame her for being careful, Otis.”

“Wish it was that simple, Joel.” Otis smoothed out the sweep of his bangs, briefly inspecting the new strands of silver starting to rival the only locks. “She does what she thinks is best,” He knew her intrusion came from a place of caring, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. “Ain’t always the right thing though.” It just made it difficult for him to trust her.

“When Ellie and I first came to Jackson, she wasn’t quite happy to see me.” Joel admitted, wishing he could run his fingers through his hair. “Figured I’d shown up to take Tommy away.” Maria’s instinct had been right even if it wasn’t Joel’s plan to up-end his brother’s life. “I wasn’t planning on it, but… she has good instinct.”

Maybe if Joel had listened to her and Tommy instead of pursuing a pipe dream about some miracle cure, the massacre at Saint Mary’s wouldn’t have taken Abigail Anderson’s father, or Marlene, or anyone else who was unfortunate enough to be there on that day. Maybe Ellie could have gotten a better, guilt-free chance at living a normal life. Maybe she wouldn’t have been made to believe that her entire existence needed to be justified as some grand sacrifice for an already collapsed society. Maybe he wouldn’t have had to lie to her about the Fireflies, and for her to then discover that lie and for their relationship to fall apart on broken trust that Joel still felt like he was trying to repair.

After all, Ellie meant more to him than just being some replacement for the daughter he’d lost. Ellie wasn’t Sarah, and that was okay because he could still love her as if she were a second daughter. He was sure they would have gotten along too, thick as thieves, bonding over their favourite bands and terrible puns.

Otis watched Joel through the reflection of the mirror as he washed the rest of the product from his hands, and then grabbed the towel to dry them. “Hey.” He called him quietly, moving over to perch himself on the edge of the bathtub. “Where did you go?”

Joel blinked away there what-ifs, briefly glancing up at the man before offering a fleeting smile. “Nowhere. Just…” There wasn’t a day that passed by where he didn’t miss Sarah. “If Sarah was still around… she would’ve loved it here.” His voice was ever so quiet as he spoke, so as to not give away the little tremor in it when he said her name. His gaze distant was again as he watched the light refract off the surface of the water.

Sarah had been his sweetest love and his greatest heart break, the loss of her irreparable, as if a part of him had been cut right out.

The still waters rippled as Otis reached into it, finding Joel’s wrist to pull his hand up. He shifted off the ledge, squatting down beside the tub instead so he was more level with Joel. “Hell, Joel…” He exhaled softly, squeezing his hand. “I can’t even begin to imagine the hurt, wish it was any other way.”

It appeared to him that Joel still felt, in some way, ashamed or guilty for what happened to Sarah and that he’d outlived her. Joel struggled to be happy, to let himself enjoy things, knowing that she’d been stolen, gone suffering, afraid, even if she’d had him with her. He had gotten better over the last five years, thanks to Ellie, and it was obvious to Otis from the way he reacted to things. There was less anger underneath the surface, and now it was just melancholy. Otis knew that hollowness only remotely. The times he could let the anger dissipate for long enough to be at peace, to let something else take its place, deep, crushing sadness was there.

He wished he could pull it out of Joel like a splinter, painful for some time maybe but much better once removed and forgotten. But he knew that loss wasn’t quite that simple, and that healing was often a personal journey softened- but not completed- by companionship. No one could really fix anyone else.

“If you want to talk… I’ll listen.” It was the best he could offer, and he tilted his head as he studied Joel’s sullen features, offering him a tender smile as the man looked to him at last.

Joel reached his free hand to gently trace the scar running from the corner of Otis’ mouth with his thumb, following its jagged path lightly for just a moment. “I’ve made my peace with it. I just miss her. You know?” He confessed quietly, lightly pressing where he thought an identical dimple might have once appeared if it wasn’t for the scarring.

Otis let him touch that side of his face for only a little while before he’d gently push his hand away. “Yeah, I get it.” He murmured. “… Otto won’t leave me.” There was a slightly tremor to his voice before he exhaled a soft breath, his gaze flickering away for a moment as he tried to compose himself. “I keep thinkin’ if I just go back, he’ll be there waitin’ for me.”

Joel shifted himself to move closer, leaning on the ledge of the tub so that they weren’t so far away, the water disturbed by his delicate movement as he set his hands on Otis’, holding them. “Go back where?” He asked.

That was a difficult question. Home was the wrong word for the house he’d grown up in, like the bare bones of some giant beast once slain, the land where it lay cursed with misery, its fruit trees grown from the tears shed there.

“Where we grew up.” That was the better term. He rested his chin lightly on their joined hands, his pale eyes looking up at Joel. The man was attentive, intrigued even, but then again he’d made his interest in Otis no secret. It was no love at first sight, but rather a curiosity at first glance which had landed them here- and honestly, Otis didn’t know what to do with Joel’s kind attention. “That house was never empty… but we sure as hell were strangers.” He confessed. “I don’t remember much else.” And maybe that too was a kindness.

Sometimes things surfaced, but they were like fragments, few and far between. Like something that happened to someone else.

Joel leaned forward to press a kiss to his temple, lingering there for a moment before smiling. “You smell like raspberry… and vanilla.” He inhaled lightly, finding something soothing about the fruity tones. Lavender was a good scent, but it carried a sad memory. That conversation they’d had in the lodge replayed in his mind whenever he came across the flower- Otis’ request to be buried in a field of them should he die.

“New product. I’m figurin’ somethin’ out for Ophelia.” Otis admitted, content to have Joel close, and kiss his jaw before freeing a hand to scratch under his beard.

Joel hummed at the pleasant sensation. “It smells good.” He approved, gently teasing some inky waves between his fingers before leaning back slightly to take him in. “You haven’t asked me for a cigarette yet. Did the candy help?”

Otis gave himself away when he ran his hand through his hair, disguising the stressed habit only mildly by pretending to fix his parting. “A little. Helps if I keep myself busy.”

“You mean if you keep your mouth busy.” Joel put in, pushing his chin up as he moved in to kiss him.

Otis met him with a bemused look, accepting the kiss in passing. “Well yeah, but I promised, so…” He returned the kiss softly and then pushed himself to stand, holding onto Joel’s hand a moment longer before letting it slip from his fingers. “I gotta go grab a few things. Will you be alright for a little while?”

Joel was disappointed that Otis had to go anywhere out of reach, but he did say he wanted to get something for Maria. “I’ll be fine.” He wasn’t in any pain, maybe those morning stretches did help. “Hey, you brought all your stuff from the Marauders’ place, right? The boxes downstairs, I mean.”

Otis paused briefly, obviously confused why Joel was asking. “Yeah. I’ll find some place else for the gear, I know you don’t like havin’ it around.” It was still FEDRA issued tactical gear, even if the logos had been scratched off or patched over.

“It can go under the stairs. Your actual stuff should go in our room though, too many boxes will just clutter up the place—“ Joel dismissed, protesting when Otis suddenly grabbed him.

It was an ardent kiss that followed, sinking him into the tub as his chin was delicately tipped back and he shut his eyes for all of the short minute it lasted, the sweet gesture stilling something in him and filling his heart. This was home, hopefully for the both of them now.

Otis released him slowly, his gaze uncharacteristically soft. “I love you.”

The way he could just say it always took Joel’s breath away, and he was left speechless, wanting to reciprocate but unable to do more than offer a bashful smile.

“I’ll be back soon.” Otis didn’t wait though, kissing his forehead then moving to head out of the bathroom.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10: Unearthed Graves

“So?” Lewis asked as the Doctor finally emerged from the room, watching the woman busily scribble away on her clipboard for a moment before looking over to Marke as he followed her out.

Doctor Nadia sighed heavily as she was forced to stop. “He’s fine, just some topical bruising but that’s normal considering malnutrition and a lot of vitamin deficiencies.” She summarised, glancing briefly to Marke who returned her look with a begrudging one. “You need to eat more like I told you, and take some supplements.” She scrawled out what was presumably a prescription on the notepad clipped to her board and then tore it off.

Marke held his hand out for it, but Nadia held it out of reach, giving it to the old Sheriff instead.

Lewis took it, debating whether his reading glasses would even help him discern what was written or if it was a moot point. He decided not to waste his time. It was for the chemist to decipher.

“I’m capable of getting shit myself.” Marke protested.

Nadia ignored him, focusing on Lewis. “Keep him out of trouble. I’m already swamped to hell being the only one who knows my head from my ass around here without needing kids getting in the way of bar fights.”

“Y- yes, thanks again for this.” Lewis smiled awkwardly, knowing it was a bit dramatic to reach out to her when she was the only M.D. in Jackson- no thanks to John Ackerman. Mel was out of town with Clayton and Waleed was covering what he could in the list of complicated procedures.

Nadia paused for long enough to offer him a friendly smile, a light assurance that she knew he was just concerned and that she wasn’t so much annoyed as stressed with everything being so chaotic around here. Real drugs were rationed for years in Jackson for as long as possible, used only when absolutely necessary, but stuff began to run out as the general population aged and needed more healthcare. Children needed vaccines and a variety of other things as they were vulnerable in their youth too.

“Can I go now?” Marke huffed impatiently, already starting to walk away.

“Now, hang on a moment-“ Lewis called after him but Nadia lightly drew him back.

“Lewis, you should tell Maria about this. The kid has quite a mouth on him. I don’t think he’s just going to let it go.” Nadia warned.

“Did he say anything?” Lewis asked.

Nadia shook her head. “Mostly just complaining and cursing.” She obviously didn’t like Marke very much, but Lewis didn’t blame her. “I’m just worried he’ll say something stupid to the wrong person and end up getting an actual beating. Even if it would teach him a lesson, I don’t want that on my conscience.”

“Lord help me.” Lewis sighed, looking upward briefly as if expecting divine intervention to lighten his load. He pinched the bridge of his nose and nodded. “I’ll talk to Maria before this goes any further- but I was there, Meyer only dragged him around a little, you should see what he did to Bill.” In comparison, Marke had snatched a knife and might have actually hurt himself or worse if Bill hadn’t gotten in the way.

“I did.” Nadia assured and then smiled before turning to rush off down the hall again. She still needed to finish the list of everything Jackson would need to replenish their medical stock for Maria.

Marke continued on his way, readjusting his awkwardly oversized shirt and tugging at the unpleasantly scratchy material of the collar. It was far too warm to wear a long sleeved shirt, but he wasn’t comfortable in anything else, even if he was sweating badly.

Most of it was the summer heat, but he was more frustrated at the way things had turned out. Pair that with having eaten nothing since yesterday and he was in a pretty sour mood.

It seemed natural that his instinct was to find the nearest vending machine, and upon doing so, raided it for everything that looked even remotely good, stuffing brown paper packets into his pockets until he could fit no more and then grabbing two more snacks for the road.

“Marke?”

A familiar voice made him pause just as he was tearing the paper open to bite into a blondie, and he turned to look at Fenton who was carrying a wicker basket of various things under his arm.

He looked like he was struggling, considering his crutches, but Fenton smiled nonetheless as if he was actually glad to see him. “I was wonderin’ who that raccoon was rummagin’ round here somethin’ awful.” It was almost annoying how handsome he was when he smiled, like a beam of sunshine.

“I’m not a fucking raccoon.” Marke responded, shovelling the sweet treat into his mouth and carelessly littering the place with crumbs. He actually didn’t throw the wrapper on the floor this time though, scrunching it in his hand as he tore into the second packet.

“Sorry, I was just teasin’, meant nothin’ by it.” Fenton’s smile turned more apologetic as he shifted his weight to lean more on his good leg. “Ain’t seen you in a while, was worried. How you holdin’ up?” He asked more seriously, though his tone remained light.

“Not like you care.” Marke scrutinised him briefly as he continued to chew, staring at Fenton’s legs openly to try and determine what happened. It was impossible to say for certain through his jeans. “What the fuck happened to you?”

Fenton was never not taken aback by Marke’s crude mannerism, but he laughed it off, shrugging a shoulder as he readjusted the basket in his arms. “Nothin’ major, just took a stray bullet. Doctor says I’ll be good in another four months or so.” It was his first instinct to dismiss concern, although he wasn’t sure if Marke was worried or just curious.

Marke moved over to him, more interested in inspecting the goods in the basket apparently, although that was just an excuse. Fenton didn’t need to know he actually liked him. He’d probably be grossed out anyway, even if there was nothing necessarily romantic about it— okay, maybe a small, minuscule crush, but Fenton was objectively attractive so it didn’t mean anything.

Fenton tried not to make it obvious that Marke’s closeness was a little unpleasantly, though it was the smell of his sweat as opposed to anything else. “The nurses took good care of me so I thought I’d put together a little somethin’ to say thanks.” He tried to explain the basket, assuming that was what Marke was looking at now.

Inside the basket sat a big teddy bear, holding a bottle of wine in its chubby arms. There was a jar of neatly labelled raspberry jam, another of honey, an assortment of cookies and crackers in paper trays, bowls of homemade strawberry gummies and dried banana chips, a wooden box of tea bags— all presumably for the break room. There were bars of different blend soaps wrapped in crinkly tissue paper too, but to Marke it all seemed so luxurious that it could have been a picture out of those ancient shopping magazines he’d seen in the lobby.

Marke wiped his hand on the front of his shirt before carefully touching one of the soaps, gingerly, and without destructive intent for once. “Seems like a waste.” He commented.

“Why do you say that?” Fenton was struggling to stay standing in truth, a burning in his thigh from straining the torn muscle a little too much for one day. “Hold on, I think I need to sit down.” He tried to manoeuvre himself to the nearest chair, and thankfully, Marke had some decency to take the basket from him to make it easier.

Marke was actually careful with the basket, though he didn’t realise how heavy it was because Fenton had been carrying it under one arm. His skinny arms felt like they might snap from the weight of the wine bottle alone, and he was quick to offload it onto the seat next to Fenton. He stared at the older man for a long moment, debating whether he was okay or if he might need to call someone.

Fenton sensed his silent question, offering a strained smile in assurance. “I’m good, really.” He set his crutches to one side, squeezing his thigh in hopes of making the throbbing sensation pass faster. “Why’re you here?”

Marke saw no reason to doubt Fenton’s assurance, moving to sit one chair down with the basket now between them. “You know that fucking Shark Marauder?”

Fenton didn’t need a descriptor, but Marke didn’t wait for him to confirm because he knew he lived there.

“I went to see a friend and he started accusing me of stealing shit, dragged me around and yelled at me like he thinks he’s scary.” Marke ranted, rolling up his sleeve to show his bruised arm. “Fucking coward, I’d like to see him take on someone his own size.”

Fenton couldn’t help but wince at Marke’s attitude. He knew Otis wasn’t the kind to raise his voice, but maybe this was all a misunderstanding. “He ain’t a bad person, Marke.” He figured that Marke was just angry over it. “Who were you there to see?”

Marke paused because he’d lied to Otis by saying he was there to see Fenton, but could he trust Fenton if he told him about Abby. Surely Fenton already knew about her, it would be strange if he didn’t seeing as he lived there. “Promise you won’t tell him?” He didn’t know how close Fenton and Otis actually were. “I don’t want him to hurt me again.”

“He won’t hurt you-“ Fenton began to say, incredulous at this strange impression that Marke seemed to have of the man. “But if it makes you feel better, I promise.”

Maybe Fenton was too understanding for his own good.

Marke wasn’t above using his good-nature though, even though he didn’t mean to cause him any harm by it. “I haven’t seen Abby since we got to this fucking place.” He began slowly, picking crumbs from his shirt. “My mother and I were stuck with the Salvagers for a while, you know…” And then he hesitated. “Been through hell, seen real evil.” He hadn’t really spoken to anyone about anything since he got here, worried that the metaphorical rug would be pulled from under him and that John Ackerman would show up again and do to Jackson what he did to the surviving Seraphites who’d been taken in by Martin.

Fenton could tell that Marke was scared of something, and that he masked it with anger, so he made excuses for him because he couldn’t imagine going through half of what he’d seen among the Salvagers and heard about the Illuminated. “What happened to her? Your Ma?”

Marke grabbed the bottle of wine from the basket, peeling the foil without asking.

“Hey-“ Fenton protested.

“What? I don’t think they’ll complain about an open bottle.” Marke was delaying his responses, but his dirty fingernails couldn’t get under the cork. “You got something I can open this with?”

Fenton sighed and retrieved his Swiss army knife from his back pocket, ignoring Marke’s expectant hand and flipping the corkscrew to uncork the bottle for him.

Marke forgot his disgruntlement about no one apparently trusting him with sharp objects or drugs as soon as the wine was uncapped and though it wasn’t chilled, he still took a big gulp straight out of the bottle.

“I wouldn’t-“ Fenton wanted to warn him that wine wasn’t for chugging but it was a bit late for that.

Marke’s cheeks puffed as he slowly absorbed the mouthful, wrinkling his nose but doing his best to swallow it all down before glaring at the bottle as if it was at fault for not tasting so good. “Why the fuck do people drink this shit? They make it sound so fucking fancy.” He complained, sticking his tongue out as if he could somehow get rid of the taste.

“It ain’t for everyone.” Fenton reached to take the bottle from him, not exactly sure about leaving it in the gift basket now. Marke had drank straight out of it, after all.

Marke held it out of reach though, refusing to give it back. “Well, I opened it now.” He pointed out, and grabbed a cracker from the paper trays to chase the acidic taste.

“Marke-“ Fenton saw his gift crumble, wanting to console himself with the fact that at least Marke was enjoying it so it wasn’t entirely wasted, but still…

“My mom’s alive somewhere, I think.” Marke continued, effectively distracting Fenton from looking like a kicked puppy as he continued to dismantle the entire tray of snacks. “Carlo got her out before everything went to shit at least.” Giancarlo should have gotten Marke out as far as he was concerned, not his mom. Marke loved her but he hated how weak she was, how she constantly refused to do anything and always turned the other cheek no matter what was done to her. She was supposed to protect him, she was supposed to—

The tears welled up faster than he could swallow them down with anger, his chewing slowing on account of the lump in his throat and suddenly he didn’t feel like eating anymore, spitting the half eaten mouthful of crackers into the wrapper in his hand in hopes of alleviating the nausea he felt.

Fenton found himself conflicted again. “I’m sure she’s alright.” He tried to comfort. “Hell, maybe one of the patrols will find ‘em if they’re still near Jackson somewhere.” It was doubtful, but Fenton didn’t know the people in question. If Giancarlo and Agnes were smart, they would have taken the road out of Colter Bay and continued as far as their feet could carry them to escape the Salvagers- at the risk of running into the Montana Hunters.

Marke wiped the rim of the bottle with his sleeve before offering it to Fenton. “Do you remember your parents? What were they like?”

“Not really.” Fenton reluctantly took the wine bottle, surveying how much was left. Marke had barely taken any but it was inappropriate to gift it now- well, to gift any of it now. He’d have to try again when he could find the time to recompile everything in the basket. “They went out one night when I was three, and I never saw ‘em again. We lived rural, they didn’t like the idea of checkin’ into a QZ, always figured things would go wrong with that many people livin’ together.” He smiled distantly, squinting at a vague memory. “Couldn’t’ve been more right.”

Marke studied his features, wondering what there was to smile about in this glum conversation. “So… what makes Jackson different then?” It was nice here, but he was cynical considering everything he’d seen. So much so that he was beginning to wonder if the road was as terrible as Martin preached. Marke would sometimes fantasise about a version of himself that was strong enough to handle the taut pull of a drawn bow, with aim as sharp as Erwin or Melissa. Then he would take on all the demons and he would hunt so that he would never been hungry or weak again. That was years ago, now it felt like a stupid, childish dream.

Fenton’s smile warmed when he looked to Marke, his side-swept bangs falling over his brow. “The people.” He answered with a slight shrug and then raising the wine bottle to his mouth to take a savouring sip. Wine was too fancy for his taste usually, but it wasn’t so bad every now and then.

Marke frowned in confusion at the simplicity of the answer. “There’s people everywhere.” He didn’t get it.

“Sure, but everyone in Jackson wants to be here.” Fenton pointed out. “They work hard ‘cause they want to see this place do well, not ‘cause they’re forced to, not ‘cause they’re scared or nothin’-“

“Or anything.” Marke corrected his grammar, which was ironic considering he was the one who couldn’t read. “You eat your letters, you know. It’s weird.”

Fenton laughed. “Heard that before.” From Jesse, when they’d first met. His smile fell away some and he sighed as he set the wine bottle back in the basket between them, carefully taking the teddy bear and idly fixing its ribbon bow-tie.

And now he seemed sad. Marke didn’t understand the man very well, but he liked his kindness and his temperament. Everyone else looked at Marke like he was diseased or something, and they all treated him like he was some dumb kid who didn’t know what he was doing. And yeah, maybe he didn’t, but it was hardly his own fault, right?

More than that, people like Otis Meyer pissed him off- Marke hated being treated like a kid, but worse than that, he hated the fact Otis was quick to reprimand him.

He didn’t know what it was about the man, but he didn’t like him from the moment he’d first laid eyes on him anyway. Something about him felt familiar and yet Marke was sure he’d remember if he’d met him before. Not like Joel. Joel was nice, warm, not much of a talker but Marke was sure he’d be kind to him if for no reason other than what he’d been through. He didn’t look at Marke like he was an alien, and he was softly spoken too which was soothing.

If Marke had to pick anyone to have a crush on, it would be Joel Miller. He seemed like a safe option.

“Hey, do you know Joel?” He asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

Fenton blinked, a little caught off-guard by the unexpected question. “Sure do. What about him?” Did Marke have a problem with him as well? He set the teddy in his lap, deciding that maybe it was a more appropriate gift for Dina’s baby when the quarantine was officially lifted for visitation. A newborn wasn’t supposed to be exposed to too many people until their immune system was a little stronger so Robin had asked everyone to wait at least a week or two before stopping by.

“Nothing, I guess. Just wondering what him and Otis have in common.” Marke shrugged. Their relationship didn’t make sense to him. He’d almost believed him when Joel insisted there was nothing going on the day he’d ate dinner at their house, but he couldn’t exactly mentally erase what he’d seen just the other night— he’d been planning to find Abby at the diner, and stalked Janet Spencer in hopes of getting information about why the woman was being hidden by the Marauders.

He knew she did something bad, that much was obvious from Joel pulling a gun on her at first meeting, but it didn’t make sense for them to keep her here if she’d killed some of their own. Marke didn’t owe her anything as far as he was concerned, but he was the reason she’d been dragged out into the wild in the first place. It was his idea to run from the convoy, and that could have gotten them both killed or worse.

Luckily for him, Janet was drunk and he was sure he could have convinced her to open the door or even let Abby go if only Otis wasn’t around.

He’d seen him and Joel on the porch that night. He was disgusted at first by how comfortable they seemed about doing that, but Janet seemed so used to it.

Fenton was puzzled by Marke’s continued line of enquiry. “I don’t really know what you mean, but they go way back from what I hear.” He liked Joel enough, but to him, Joel was just Ellie’s father figure. “Mr Miller’s the reason we got here, so I’m real grateful we ran into him. Jackson’s like a dream in comparison to Denver and Pittsburgh.”

Marke didn’t know where either of those places were. “I guess a place where you can fuck whoever you like without it being anyone’s business is a dream.” He scoffed.

Fenton stared at him for his crudeness. “What’s got you in a bad mood?” He didn’t understand all the cursing and bitterness.

It didn’t seem like Fenton cared either. Was it really that normal? Marke was starting to question everything he knew, and he stared back at Fenton, fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve as he debated whether to ask. Fenton had insisted that him wearing a dress didn’t bother him, but then again, Fenton was too polite to make him feel uncomfortable so maybe it wasn’t a real point of reference.

He lowered his voice as he finally spoke, even though there was no one else around. “So, no one actually cares if they do that?” He covered his mouth, his mannerism nervous instead of brash.

Marke was speaking in riddles, and Fenton was starting to get a little impatient. “What’re you talkin’ about? Jesus, Marke, you can just say it.” His tone was exasperated more than frustrated, although it didn’t matter.

Marke flinched slightly, wondering if maybe he offended Fenton or maybe Fenton didn’t actually care and he was annoying him with all his questions. “Sorry, it’s stupid. Of course no one cares, they’re living together.”

Fenton didn’t say anything, continuing to stare at Marke which only made Marke feel more nervous about the whole thing.

“You don’t think it’s weird that they’re both men? I mean men can’t make babies-“ He ran his mouth because it was more than taboo, it was a challenge to everything he’d been taught.

Fenton suddenly stood up, his face flushed with what Marke read to be anger as he grabbed his crutches.

“Wait!” Marke shot up too, desperate not to have Fenton be angry with him. “I don’t actually care, I was just curious. It’s not my business, I know—“

“Jesus Christ, Marke.” Fenton suddenly snapped, his expression pained as he shifted his weight, trying to figure out what to do with all the things he couldn’t carry and just as quickly deciding to leave them.

“Wait, I’ll bring them for you.” Marke tried to be helpful in his desperation, packing everything back into the basket.

“Keep it.” Fenton dismissed, turning to walk away.

Marke bundled the basket into his arms, rushing after him which shouldn’t have been hard considering Fenton was on crutches but Marke was short and weak from malnourishment that he still needed to make some effort to close the gap. “I didn’t know you cared about Joel that much, I’m sorry.” He actually apologised for once, so eager to make Fenton not upset with him but he’d completely misread the situation.

“I don’t give a damn about Joel.” Fenton suddenly turned, Marke nearly walking into him. “Otis is like my brother, and you’ve been runnin’ your darn mouth about him all afternoon.”

Marke’s heart fell into his stomach, his face pale as he realised his mistake. “… oh.”

Fenton exhaled, turning away again and continuing down the hall at a much more forgiving pace. He didn’t mean to reprimand Marke. Marke being upset with Otis made sense if it was a misunderstanding, but Fenton reasoned that Marke just didn’t know Otis like he did initially.

And then to come out with… this.

Fenton felt embarrassed, because if it was true then he was the biggest idiot in the world but now he had even more questions than answers and he needed to see Otis.

Marke didn’t leave him alone though, continuing on his heels. “I haven’t told anyone.” He tried to assure. “I’m sure Otis has some redeeming qualities if you like him.” Nerves were making him say stupid things and really he should have shut up three minutes ago. “But I’m not a thief, Janet really did give me that lipstick.”

Fenton wanted to tell Marke to leave him alone, but the more Marke talked, the more bizarre the situation felt and he slowed down further, wondering if he should really give credit to anything Marke said. The younger man was bad at reading the room, he didn’t know the first thing about anything and now he was talking about… lipstick?

“Listen, Marke,” Fenton looked at him, really taking him in. “Go home. Wash up with them soaps there, have somethin’ proper to eat, then you can come by the diner and we can sort this whole thing out. I’m sure Janet probably just forgot to mention she gave you it.”

Marke looked like a kicked puppy. He could no doubt tell that Fenton was just trying to fob him off, and looked down at the basket in his arms. “I don’t… really feel comfortable. I share the place with like ten other people and they all look at me weird.” Ten was an exaggeration, but the place felt like a halfway house with his housemates having friends around at every hour. To the point that he slept in the bathroom with the door locked instead of in his bed since he shared a room with another boy.

He didn’t bother talking to any of his housemates though, and they didn’t seem very interested in reaching out to him either. Then again, their first impression on Marke was one guy asking him why the hell he was wearing a dress and what happened to his eye, and the other guy started off with a bunch of antagonising rules that basically all amounted to ‘don’t touch my shit’. The last guy was too busy snogging his girlfriend to really even look at Marke, and the girl was around at practically every hour of the day, whispering to her boyfriend and giggling the entire time. Marke assumed it was about him, but he couldn’t be certain.

Fenton knew it wasn’t his responsibility. They barely had enough room at the diner- with Sahil and Jones moving out, Fenton just about got his own room for a couple of months. Kumi had taken the other free room for a little while, but Ophelia needed a room to herself which meant that Kumi moved into Fenton’s room whenever he was staying over. Abby took Otis’ room which was the reason Fenton assumed he’d found somewhere else to crash, at least while he was in Jackson since he was often busy doing whatever Quinn asked him to do.

“Okay, well…” Still, he couldn’t kick Marke more. “Go ahead to the diner, you can shower there, I’ve got a few things to do.”

The way Marke seemed to light right up didn’t help. “Can I borrow your clothes?”

Fenton sighed. “Sure.” Marke would just weasel his way in anyway.

Kumi brought his hand up to shade his eyes from the bright rays as he walked up to the Marauder’s pub, finding the beer garden out front unusually quiet for a late afternoon.

Otis was on the porch, though Kumi almost didn’t recognise him because of his clothes, a fine blue button up with the sleeves rolled up his arms which right now rested on the porch rail as he fidgeted with a square of cloth in his gloved hands- folding then unfolding it repeatedly. He didn’t notice Kumi at first, the rim of a black cowboy hat shading his eyes from the glare of the sun.

“T!” Kumi called out as he reached the steps, holding the strap of his backpack over one shoulder.

Otis’ head lifted immediately, his eyes finding Kumi. No one really called him that anymore. “K.” A cordial nod was offered, a stalk of farmers gum wheat being lifted to his mouth for something to chew on.

Kumi smiled, a little surprised at the lack of animosity for once though he didn’t know if he should push his luck. “Everything’s quiet out here. Is Spencer not feeling well?” He gestured briefly to the empty tables over his shoulder as he joined the older man under the shade of the porch canopy.

“Somethin’ like that.” Otis replied vaguely, moving on quickly. “You here to pick up Otto?”

“I took him fishing this morning, I had to get some work done at the stable just now, figured I’d have a late lunch.” Kumi found his question a bit odd. He’d been living here for a few months now, seeing as John murdered his landlady, and he could be closer to Otto this way. “Spencer didn’t tell you?”

Janet had told Otis that morning when he came by, but considering everything that happened, he’d forgotten.

“Must’ve slipped my mind.” He shrugged his good shoulder, bringing a hand to his neck.

Kumi watched him for a moment before moving closer to stand next to him. “Why are you out here? Come inside, we’ll have steak and beer- like the old times, eh?” A small suggestion, another attempt at rekindling friendship.

Otis couldn’t forgive him though. Kumi might not have been the cause, but he was certainly a catalyst and it was difficult to look at him the same way he did ten years ago. All his friends seemed to have a habit of betraying his trust one way or another. Or dying first.

“I’m good. You go ahead.” He declined, going back to his repetitive folding.

The cloth was patterned, cut into a square, the kind Otis used to wear as a bandana over his hair.

Kumi was glad he didn’t tell him to choke on it at least, but he could tell that something was wrong. “I know you don’t like having me around, and I can’t make you accept my apology…” He preempted, figuring that Otis was calm enough to hear him out.

Otis didn’t want to talk about this right now, but it wasn’t like he could walk away. “Kumi, we’ve been over this-” He tried to interrupt.

“Ay, listen.” Kumi persisted though, nudging his shoulder to get him to face him.

Otis batted his hand away. “Don’t-“ He started sharply, narrowing his eyes at him before exhaling the irritation away. “Don’t touch me.” He warned, refusing to look at him.

“I won’t ever stop apologising.” Kumi faced him even if Otis refused to. “And I won’t stop thanking you for what you did for my boy either.” He was earnest, serious about wanting this matter to be resolved, but if he thought that Otis would cave just because he was too stubborn to stop then he was sorely mistaken. “Otto respects you, you are the centre of his universe. Do you know that?” That was what a father should be.

Otis felt like he knew where this was going, if only they’d been having this conversation eight years ago instead of after all the hurt. “A little too late, K.” He sighed. “Eight fucking years too late.”

“But we’re here now, Otis. The two of us, and I don’t want to ruin it for him. You’re something good, T.” Kumi’s words might have been appreciated if Otis gave a damn what he thought but it was too late for that. “I want you to carry on being part of his life.” His single eye crinkled as he smiled, the first lines of age showing.

When Otis had met him, Kumi was barely twenty and still towering over him. He was short-tempered and more brawn than brains, but easily shied whenever Dominique was around. Otis had watched them fall in love gradually, nearly dozed off a dozen times on night patrol listening to Dominique talk about Kumi, or the other way around. Dominique was always on the better side of the morality scale, just like his brother, but she wasn’t afraid to get things done. She was smart and independent, but that didn’t stop Kumi from caring for her, appreciating her perspective, learning things that helped him develop his own principles in life.

So how did they get here? At what point did it all go wrong? Otis had asked himself that question a million times over, and no answer was good enough to justify the loss.

“So?” Kumi leaned in slightly, expecting some kind of positive affirmation from Otis.

Otis dropped his head, sighing as he gripped the railing and leaned back out of the sun’s reach. “Well, I ain’t goin’ nowhere…” Maybe it would stop Kumi from apologising so much and so often, because after a while, the word ‘sorry’ stopped meaning much.

Kumi’s smile warmed, and for some reason he seemed to take it as an invitation that he could talk to Otis like they were friends again. “I’m thinking about telling him.” He said, turning to look out over the beer garden and inhaling. “I want to hear him call me ‘Dad’ just one time.”

“Do whatever you want.” Otis replied flatly.

Kumi detected something in his tone. “You don’t think it’s a good idea.” It wasn’t a question, Kumi did know him for almost twenty years.

Otis sighed again. “He’s a smart kid.” It was a short observation. “In time… he’ll figure it out.” There was no uncertainty in his mind that Otto would put two and two together with how much effort Kumi was putting into spending time with him.

“Do you think he will be upset with me?” It had been Kumi’s biggest fear when he’d first found out about his son’s location; that Otto would reject him, that he would hate him for being gone for most of his life. He’d pictured a hundred different scenarios, a hundred different versions of what his son might be like, but none of them were ever half as good as what he’d found.

“Likely.” Otis replied quietly, looking over at him. His gaze was distant but there was melancholy there too, grey eyes like an overcast sky.

Kumi didn’t know what to make of that look because he’d only ever seen it a handful of times and it was never for him.

“He’ll forgive you for it too.” Otis added. “But right now everythin’ around him is changin’ and if you add this on top of the whole darn thing, he’ll blame you for it. All of it.” He warned.

It was one thing to introduce Kumi to Otto when the boy was in a secure space, between the two people who’d raised him all this time. It was another thing to turn his whole world upside down when the people in question were drifting apart. Otto was already feeling the stress of having another anomaly in the household, Ophelia’s presence considered a threat to his own happiness- and Otis did feel bad that he was away most of the time, but if Kumi suddenly told Otto that he was his father, then Otto would blame him for Otis’ withdrawal too.

It wasn’t intentional. Otis felt selfish for trying to find his own happiness, but that didn’t mean he cared about Otto any less. And despite everything, Otto wasn’t his son. He could make sure the boy was happy, safe, and taken care of— without those things relying on his presence alone.

Kumi considered Otis’ words for a long minute, shame weighing his shoulders and he looked down briefly, sizing Otis up. His gaze lay on the man’s chest, unable to erase the knowledge of his heart condition from his mind. But that was what made it so important for Kumi to try and patch things up. “You’re so sure he’ll forgive me…” He didn’t understand. “But you won’t even think about it?” Maybe it was terrible of him to keep nagging, but he didn’t think he could ever sleep right until he heard it from him. That he was forgiven.

Otis had been avoiding this confrontation ever since Kumi had returned. He thought that hurting the man would make him feel better, craving that same relief he got from pulling his father’s teeth from his broken knuckle thirty years ago. But he never found it again. “Kumi, you didn’t just ruin my reputation- Lord knows I ain’t ever cared what other people thought of me.” He didn’t think that Kumi understood the full scale of what happened in Pittsburgh after his accusation, but it was difficult to talk about it out loud without feeling nauseous. He brought a hand to his face, rubbing his scarred mouth as he took a breath.

“I loved her, man- you know how much I loved her and it drove me fucking crazy. I was ready to be there, I never wanted to leave, all I wanted was a chance to make good. No matter what it cost.” Kumi tried to explain desperately, not to excuse himself, though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was trying to do. He had no one else to talk to about Dominique.

“You think I don’t fucking know that?” Otis scoffed lightly, knowing that he was that price, but he’d already accepted that was the way things usually went. And he could understand it too, and that was what made this whole thing so terrible. Otis would have done anything to save his brother’s life if he’d been given the chance, but not everyone got that choice.

Janet too would have done anything to save her son, and maybe given a second chance, she would have let him kill Otis. At least she wouldn’t have lost herself to guilt the same way, though she might have been sad for a little while, at least she wouldn’t have been broken.

“It doesn’t justify anything. Man, I know that.” Kumi pressed his scarred eyelid, his one good eye bleary with unshed tears. “I’m sorry. I won’t stop saying it, ‘cause I am. I’m sorry.”

“I am too.” Otis leaned back on the porch rail, chewing lightly on the wheat stalk.

Silence filled the space between them, heavy with unspoken emotions and regrets that could never fix anything.

And when Otis spoke again, his voice was ever so quiet. “I just can’t forgive you. Not after… everythin’ that happened.” Even if he understood why, even if he knew Kumi was truly sorry, he couldn’t give him closure because their relationship was irreparably broken.

Too many people had died so that Otto Okoro could live. And really how much was the value of one life against others? Kumi and Dominique had made a mistake, and Otis had too. But Dominique Okoro was dead, and the two of them were still in this handcrafted, personal hell.

The only reason Otis didn’t kill Kumi was because Otto deserved to escape the sins of his parents. And if his heart ever finally decided to give up, Otto would need someone who could love him unconditionally.

What happened in Pittsburgh had already killed him, and he didn’t want to go back there. He didn’t want Layla to stay awake with him every night in his memory because she was afraid the grief would kill him. She had held his broken heart in her hands as delicately as she could until he could survive it alone and Otis didn’t think anyone had ever loved him quite the way she did.

It was unfair that he’d survived her. She was the better part of him that Joel could now love.

But how much more could he survive? For everything he’d lived, all he had was a sister who was afraid of him and he of her— because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t protect her from what had already happened.

And then there was Joel Miller with his awkward, sheepish smiles and his grumpy, reclusive nature. He was hard not to love, and maybe that was something to be grateful for. Joel had come into his life at exactly the right time, so despite everything, he didn’t want to spend anymore time dissecting dead memories with what could have been.

Kumi wanted to apologise again, but he was still processing everything. “I never meant for things to go this far…” He could no longer look him in the eye, though he could feel Otis’ gaze on him now.

Putting that kind of shame in Kumi didn’t bring Otis any satisfaction. “You can’t fix this.” If Otis could escape him, he would, but Kumi was here now. “Your son’s life came at the price of everythin’ you and Dominique were willin’ to pay. And I ain’t the only one who paid it. So you better fucking cherish him, or hell and I will come for you.”

Kumi had made a deal with the wrong devil. He knew that now, but there was nothing that could be done about it. “Thanks…” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “For everything, Otis. I may have fucked it, but you’re family.” Maybe Otis is what Dominique deserved. “The way she wrote about you…” He smiled.

Of course Kumi would have read Dominique’s diary when he found it, John had stolen it from him after all.

“Don’t fucking go down that path again, K.” Otis warned. “When I told you she’s like my sister, I fucking meant it.”

Kumi lifted his head, studying Otis for a minute. “… what do you mean?”

Otis exhaled heavily, rubbing his slit brow as he pushed off the rail. “John’s never been good about keepin’ his hands off women.” He chewed lightly on the end of the wheat stalk, and slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Her Ma worked for my family for years, stayed in contact with John even after everythin’. Think she was still at the homestead when Otto and I left. Dominique might not be John’s daughter, but she was more my sister than Ophelia is.” They had grown up together, he’d seen her come home from her first day of school, her clothes dusty and hair a mess despite having left in brand new clothes. He’d picked her up from her senior prom with Otto, the two of them gossiping about how ridiculous the whole dancing thing was and who was chosen as prom king and queen. Otis drove her up to college too, in Pennsylvania, with her blaring ‘Iris’ by Goo Goo Dolls in the passenger seat while she talked his ear off about everything she was going to do for the first time as soon as she got there, finally escaping the confines of their backwater hometown.

Kumi had never heard about any of these things because neither Otis nor Dominique talked about them. Dominique had always spoken about how she was glad to escape Marfa, how difficult life was with her present but absent mother, how her actual brother- Andreas- had struggled and was in and out of prison over the course of her childhood. It was no surprise that Kumi just couldn’t understand when Dominique constantly ran to Otis the minute she needed help, instead of turning to him or asking his opinion first.

“For what it’s worth… your father’s a creep.” Kumi stated, taking a breath to dispel the heavy weight on his chest. These things were difficult to talk about.

“You’ll get no fucking argument from me.” Otis scoffed, and for a moment things seemed like they might just work themselves out. Maybe not right away, but they could make it work in the years Otis had left.

The front door to the diner opened, dispelling the illusion as Janet appeared.

“I gotta go.” Otis excused himself, giving Kumi a light nudge as he passed him.

“Otis-“ Kumi called him back shortly.

“What?” Otis asked impatiently, wanting to get out of her as soon as possible.

“Do you remember her name? Dom’s mother.” Kumi’s question earned him a raised brow, seeming like a rather random thing to ask about.

“Can’t say I do.” Otis had only vague memories of the woman, and things from over thirty years ago that he’d survived only ever resurfaced in fragments.

“Alright. You down to get some drinks some time?” Kumi asked.

“I don’t know, K.” Otis sighed, turning away from him as Janet brought Ophelia out. “Give me time.”

Janet briefly watch Kumi as he made his way around them, the large man smiling as he gently patted Ophelia’s head.

“Hey, kid.” Kumi was somehow able to get around Ophelia’s aversion to most people, although maybe it was because she associated him with Otto, or maybe he was familiar to her some other way. He’d been around the Illuminated for some time, so he was the one familiar face she’d learned wasn’t a danger. He’d never been violent or loud around her, and he carried with him a certain kind of sadness that made him keep to himself.

Ophelia looked up at him, her grey-blue eyes following the man briefly before she shuffled closer to Janet, holding onto the woman’s hand more tightly. She didn’t want to go with Otis.

Janet squeezed her hand gently in reassurance, before she finally looked to the man standing opposite her. “I… spoke to Ophelia.” She spoke reluctantly, guilt making it difficult for her to really maintain her composure. “We agreed that she’d go with you for an hour- I gave her a watch, and explained how it works, so she’d feel better.” She briefly lifted Ophelia’s hand to point the watch out on her wrist.

It was kiddy thing, with a sunny yellow strap and a simple clock face, decorated in daisies. Ophelia wore one of Otto’s old t-shirts, the article hanging off her thin frame and threatening to slid off her shoulder because of the wide collar. She wore simple cargo shorts, which fortunately hung on thanks to the elastic waistband, and flip flops that also ran a bit too large for her small feet. They were a kindness against the hot tarmac though, especially on a day like this.

Otis removed his hat slowly, holding it against his chest as he tried to navigate the discomfort of facing Janet again so soon, his hand smoothing out his hair along the silver streak at his temple.

Janet’s eyes were drawn to him, admiring him with the guilt of a sinner that knew they should be looking away. “Hey, um…” She forced herself to focus on anything else. “I’m sorry about this morning, I really thought-“

“You know I’m real tired of hearin’ that word.” Otis cut her off, his tone quiet, deceptively gentle even because it was a warning to back off. He wouldn’t meet her gaze.

Janet hadn’t heard him speak to her in that way since Pittsburgh, when they’d first met and he rightly didn’t trust her. She knew that people would get tired of her emotional instability, the constant meltdowns and lashing out, and the need for reassurance and the comfort and walking on eggshells. Just not Otis. He’d been patient with her the entire time, but maybe now it was time for her to actually do the work to get better. She just didn’t want to do it alone. She let go of Ophelia’s hand, needing to pull hers away with a bit of effort since the girl didn’t want to let go. Janet wrung her hands as she tried to swallow down the growing lump in her throat. “I- I need help.” She admitted in a small voice.

Otis offered his hand to Ophelia instead, watching as the girl sized him up and then slowly, reluctantly, chose to loosely trust him enough for that small contact. It took her another full minute to take a step closer to him, her grip on his hand light enough that it was obvious she was ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.

Janet wasn’t sure if Otis had heard her, but it felt hard enough to ask for help in the first place and now it hurt a lot more to be ignored.

Otis waited until Ophelia was beside him before he looked at Janet, his eyes glassy. “I can’t help you, Janet.” He told her, exhaling a shaky breath. “I’ll never be more than your justification for an accident-“

“No.” Janet was suffocating with the desperation to repress tears. “No, that’s not true.” She insisted, clasping her hands tightly against her stomach.

“It is.” Otis wished it wasn’t true, he’d spent the last two years trying to convince himself otherwise but this whole thing wasn’t healthy for either of them.

Ophelia could tell that Janet was upset, and she let go of Otis’ hand to move over to the woman, bringing her arms around Janet’s middle to hug the woman as best as she could.

Janet couldn’t hold the tears anymore, the first sob bringing out the flood and she covered her face in shame.

Otis struggled not to comfort her, squeezing his wrist as he watched her fall apart. “I ain’t no good for you, Janet. I tried to help, I just didn’t do it right.” He’d helped her escape instead of process things, gave her a place to hide from grief. Janet was still in the exact place she was when she’d shot her son, tormented and in pieces.

“You can’t just walk away, Otis, that’s not fair!” Janet thought they were still in this together, but that too was just an illusion she’d built.

Otis tried not to get irritated. He knew she wouldn’t take it well, and maybe that was why he’d been avoiding it for so long, but that wasn’t going to help either of them. “Aiden killed my wife.” He reminded her. “And if you hadn’t shot him, I would’ve killed him myself.” It might have been a cruel thing to say, but it was his truth.

Janet stared at him in disbelief, like she didn’t understand anything he was telling her.

“And… I know it ain’t fair- I know that.” Otis felt a shortness in his breath and needed to pause, bringing a hand up to massage away the pain in his chest.

Janet couldn’t help her concern, angrily wiping the tears from her face and hugging Ophelia tightly against her like it would fill the void somehow. “If you want to leave me… you can just leave. You don’t have to hurt me, Otis.” She didn’t want to hear these things. Not from him. It hurt too much.

Otis felt like his heart might break, but somehow it still kept pounding. “All I’m sayin’ is… you could’ve had a family by now. I could never give you that.” He was still winded though.

“You gave me Fenton.” Janet shrugged a shoulder. “And Otto, and Dorothy.” She tried to smile, because this was painful already and she didn’t want him to keep going.

Otis hung his head, shaking it lightly. They were getting nowhere. “Sorry, Jan… could you get me a glass of water?”

Janet again wiped her eyes and moved over, encouraging him to lean on her so she could get him to the rocking chair nearby. “Do you need me to get a Doctor?” She asked, seeming almost glad they were moving away from the subject.

Otis pulled away from her as soon as he was sat, replacing his hat atop his head. “No, I’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” Janet tried not to feel dejected, brushing her hair behind her ears as she took a deep breath. “Ophelia stay with your brother, okay?” She told the girl gently, and then rushed inside to get some water.

Ophelia stared at her brother with a frown of evident upset with him.

Otis removed the stalk of wheat from his mouth. “I know you don’t believe me, but I ain’t the monster in this story.” He sighed, retrieving a slip of paper from his pocket and pushed himself to stand despite his exhaustion. He set it on the chair and took Ophelia’s hand. “Come on.”

When Janet returned, she found the porch abandoned, the only sound being that of the pigeons roosting in the trees and the cicadas in the woodlands beside the diner. “Otis?” And for the first time in a long time, she found herself alone.

Surely, he was coming back. If for no other reason than to return Ophelia to her.

Janet ignored the tears brimming, and took the slip of paper, blinking hard to dispel the bleariness.

On it was written a name in handwriting that Janet didn’t recognise, and then in Otis’ left handed scrawl the address of the Church with a short note:

‘l’d trade us for your happiness. I pray you’d do the same for me.’

Chapter Text

Chapter 11: No Mothers’ Hand

Ophelia didn’t understand what Otis was supposed to be to her.

Everyone told her that he was her brother, and she guessed that was supposed to mean something, but she didn’t understand that either.

Janet said he would never hurt her, that she would be safe with him, but they had left Janet crying on the porch.

So, she didn’t understand.

Jackson was too crowded and too loud at times, and the pub got very noisy in the afternoon, all that clinking of cutlery and laughter as hungry diners poured in like clockwork every single time the doors opened throughout the week. And then every seventh day, it would be closed and those days were Ophelia’s favourite.

When she’d first started leaving her room, Otto had followed her around nearly everywhere, the annoying boy watching her at first and then constantly trying to talk to her or invite her to play with him. Ophelia couldn’t stand him though, he was stupid, he didn’t know anything but he seemed to think he did.

And he cried a lot too, constantly getting the attention of all the grown ups for it and they all seemed to smother him with their affection.

Ophelia tried not to cry, crying usually meant that she got the wrong kind of attention from her father. Her mother had warned her that being seen and being heard meant that she was going to get hurt, but even then sometimes Ophelia couldn’t help it. It was like everything she wanted to communicate just got too much and without an ability to tell her parents that she was in pain, she cried, hoping that they would understand her. They never did, of course. Neither did Janet, Ophelia was convinced the woman would be happy if she was gone, but now that she was walking away from her, Ophelia wasn’t sure if she wanted to leave.

Her gaze remained on the porch, trying to memorise the path back to it even as she followed her brother away from it, leaving behind what she knew.

For as long as she could remember, nowhere was home. Her parents had moved from one hovel to another, her mother usually lagging behind to care for some poor unfortunate woman they might have encountered on the road. But her father never stopped, and he never looked kindly on either of them but Ophelia wasn’t old enough to imagine that he might ever be gone for good or that they could leave him.

Even now, she was expecting him to show up as he always did, and maybe her mother too because she never left her alone for long- and they would take her away from here, and onto the road again until they met new people that her father would smile and laugh with, weaselling scraps of food and promising them high returns for dangerous investments.

Otis stopped under the overhanging branches of a cottonwood tree, its vibrant green leaves flush with colour and its thick foliage offering shade from the afternoon sun.

This was as far into the town as Ophelia had ventured since she’d first arrived in Jackson, the tree marking the end of the residential streets where the road opened out towards the commercial square in the distance.

She squinted against the glare of sunlight reflecting harshly off the open windows of nearby buildings, wrinkling her nose and turning away to move further under the merciful shade of the tree.

There was a cast iron bench here, with swirling flowery patterns and an inscription which she couldn’t read. Janet had tried to teach her, but Ophelia was only good at copying letters because of the task her mother had set her to keep her occupied whenever she was delivering sermons. The task was really just copying passages from a tattered Bible, but if Ophelia understood what she was transcribing, she showed no indication. Ophelia saw patterns and lines and curves, like pictures, nothing more.

Otis had taken a seat to catch his breath, holding his bad shoulder and waiting for the pain to pass him by.

Ophelia kept her distance, circling around the large trunk of the cottonwood tree and carefully navigating its thick roots until she made a full lap and found herself in front of him again.

Otis didn’t seem to pay her much mind. His heart wasn’t holding up too well from all the stress, leaving him unable to recover from this constant fatigue even though he wasn’t doing anything particularly strenuous.

Ophelia inched closer but stayed out of reach, standing at the other side of the bench.

Otis lifted his head briefly to watch her from under the rim of his hat. “You worried?” He couldn’t tell, which was unusual since children rarely disguised their emotions very well.

Ophelia contemplated the question before shrugging and kicking lightly at the plush grass underfoot. There was a cluster of buttercups nearby which had her attention.

Otis almost managed a laugh but he was too winded to muster the sound, exhaling a huff of air. “Don’t be.” He indicated lightly towards the flowers. “They ain’t wild, you can pick ‘em.”

Ophelia squatted down beside the flowers, poking a petal lightly before grabbing the stem right at the base and tearing it up. It came up with dry earth and its roots still intact, and those Ophelia plucked away, brushing away the dirt that crumbled onto her feet.

Otis supposed it was alright to just wait here for a few minutes. The temperature was high and he didn’t really want the girl to get sunstroke so he had to make a mental list of things to get her beside some clothes that fit better- a decent hat and sunscreen for starters. “Don’t go far.” He warned, watching as Ophelia circled the tree again.

There were a lot of questions that he wanted to ask, but none that Ophelia could answer, and that meant that he would be doing all of the talking just this once.

He’d been trying to put everything that had happened at Colter Bay behind him, John Ackerman’s desperate pleading, his guilt-tripping nonsense— he was glad that it was over but not for how it ended. Truthfully, for all his broken glass anger, he’d been hoping that his father would walk away and leave.

It was stupid, naive, it wasn’t like him.

It felt like he’d been wiser when he was 17 years old, prying his father’s broken teeth from his knuckles. He’d known that the only way he would ever part from him if they met again was with one of them dead.

Anger had made that easy, but Otis was tired of being angry. He’d carried those feelings for more than 40 years and now they were too heavy and a burden, and he didn’t want them anymore.

John had waved around the topic of his mother as if it would have made an ounce of difference to their relationship, but it plagued Otis now for a different reason. He’d made it sound like his mother had come back, and he’d insisted that Ophelia was his sister as if he meant it by the blood of both parents.

Otis didn’t miss his mother, he didn’t remember her. She was just a foggy and distant figure, softly singing in the late afternoon light of the kitchen to the orchestra of plates and cutlery- a stranger whose face he could never unblur, just like anyone he might have passed on the sidewalk.

John was involved with only one woman among the Illuminated, and that woman had died a painful mess of broken bones and a punctured lung after Ellie pushed her from the second floor of the compound in Colter Bay.

Enid had called him by his name though, and spoken like she knew him.

It didn’t make sense though, none of it made sense- Erwin had said that Enid was Martin’s mother, though they bore no resemblance so maybe it was metaphorical motherhood. Everyone called her ‘Mother Enid’ anyway, and thinking about it was just going to keep him spiralling.

Ophelia came to stand in front of him again, her hands full of every buttercup and daisy she could find nearby.

“Ready to go?” Otis removed his hat, offering it to her as a vessel and smoothing his bandana back over his hair to keep it tidy. He had to find Erwin for answers because Ophelia wouldn’t give him any even if he asked.

Ophelia reluctantly inched closer, dropping her floral treasures into the cowboy hat before brushing her hands off.

“Take it.” Otis encouraged, letting her keep the hat for now.

Ophelia stared at him for a moment, her expression puzzled as she took it and moved to sit beside him on the bench. Her short legs swung lightly, enjoying the coolness of the air under the rich shade of the cottonwood tree.

It was nice here, quiet, and the sky beyond Jackson’s rooftops seemed to stretch for miles into woodland and mountain scapes. The vastness of the world had rarely crossed Ophelia’s mind, even though she’d been on the road with her parents since her birth, surviving meagrely and living barely. But Jackson seemed like it had been cut out of the world. Ophelia liked to imagine that it was one of those pretty portraits she’d seen in the hospital lobby and that she had slipped through the canvas and left behind every scary and horrible thing she’d ever encountered.

Her brother had brought her here and now they sat together as close strangers.

Otis pushed himself to stand once he felt a little lighter even if the fatigue sat heavy on his chest still. “Let’s get goin’.” He told Ophelia, bringing his good arm up to shade his eyes from the sun as he started down the gentle slope towards the main road.

Ophelia lagged a little behind, carrying her makeshift basket of flowers and carefully navigating around the grassy path to avoid twisting her ankles on the overgrown cobbles. The flip-flops she wore were too big, her slow pace forcing Otis to wait, though maybe it was a good thing to slow down for once. She tilted her head back as she caught the sound of a soft chitter, a bird breaking out into song as it bobbled between the wispy branches above.

Otis set a hand on his belt as he waited, shifting his weight and watching the girl come to a slowing stop beside him, her eyes still searching for the mystery serenader. “It’s a song sparrow. You’ll see plenty of ‘em all year round.” He promised though he waited for her to have her fill of wonder before they moved on.

He saw in her that same romanticism that Joel carried— and for some reason, that brought him an assurance that she would be just fine somehow.

Maybe they would both be alright in the end, and that was the most comforting thought he’d had in a very long time.

“C’mon, sprig.” He had to prompt her to get going eventually.

Ophelia followed him, closer the closer they got to the market, her pace stressed in trying to keep up with him but that distracted her from everyone else at least.

“Meyer!” An old man with a weathered face called out from the porch of the grocers as they passed it, dressed in a vibrant Hawaiian shirt with a straw hat and sunglasses.

Otis took a moment to recognise him. “Mike.”

The man had a beer in his hand which he switched to his other to offer a handshake. “I haven’t seen you in forever.” He was jovial for once, though maybe it was retirement and pleasant weather that helped him shed his serious nature.

“Retirement treatin’ you well?” Otis didn’t feel like making small talk though he took his hand to give it a firm shake.

“Better than gold, my friend!” On second thought, maybe it was the beer because his sagging stomach certainly suggested an indulgence. “Who’s the little one?” Mike smiled.

Ophelia stared at him from behind her brother, or rather she stared at his sunburned nose, all pink and flaked.

“She’s…” Otis didn’t know exactly how to answer that, though he was glad Ophelia didn’t wander far. “My sister.”

Mike’s expression reflected the same surprise most people’s did though he was polite enough not to dig further. “It’s a good day for an outing,” He raised his beer in toast as Esther exited the grocers, moving over to dutifully take the bags from her. “You make sure to stay out of the sun now!” He called out.

Esther smiled when she saw them, taking her husband’s arm and waving.

Otis didn’t wait around, offering a cordial nod to the old couple before continuing on towards the clothing store adjacent.

A gaggle of women stood around the bargain bins, sorting through the clothing and adding bits and removing others considered no longer fit for the season. They had a few boxes nearby of pieces brought back by the scavenging groups to accommodate for Jackson’s growing population, the suitable articles having gone through laundry and repairs before now being added to the shelves and racks.

A little bell chimed above the door as they entered the shop, Otis holding it open until Ophelia passed through before following her inside. He’d never really bothered to visit most of the shops in Jackson square since he’d never had the need to before today.

The interior was pleasantly cool, fans spinning out of sync on the ceiling and helping to circulate the air a little.

Racks and shelves of clothing fragmented the space, handmade signs suspended from the ceiling beams to indicate the different sections- women’s, men’s, outdoor gear, children’s- this last section was their target and it was surprisingly well stocked for the summer.

Little mannequins wore brightly coloured t-shirts with hand embroidered motifs of cartoon suns and sailing boats and parrots, creating an almost surreal mimicry of a very ordinary, pre-apocalypse department store.

No musty smell, no moth-eaten fabrics, not a speck of dust or thread of spider silk anywhere.

Otis couldn’t remember the last time he’d even set foot in a clothing store, though it was an entirely different experience considering he didn’t have the first clue about how to dress a girl and he doubted Ophelia had any idea what she’d need either.

It occurred to him that Joel would have been a much needed and wanted companion on this occasion, what with him being the single father of a girl for 13 years and all, but it was a big ask and maybe one that Joel wouldn’t have been very comfortable accepting.

It was maybe easier to start by picking out some practical clothing for every day play. Janet had mentioned summer dresses, but Otis didn’t know how to pick those out at all.

“Do you need some help?” A sweet old lady piped up, finding him between the racks of clothes.

Otis hadn’t even heard her, although maybe it was because the spinning fans and the wooden interior created a muffled sort of ambience in the store. He’d zoned out completely for some time there, and now he briefly looked around to make sure Ophelia hadn’t wandered off.

The girl was staring at the child mannequins with a frown not dissimilar to his own when he was lost in thought.

“Are you picking something out for her?” The woman inched closer, the musical lilt of a transatlantic accent notable in her speech. She was bow-backed with age and walked with a careful slowness though her vintage floral dress was vibrant against the white wisps of hair peering out from under her satin pink kerchief, and she carried herself with bright eyes and a friendly demeanour.

“Honestly, I’m a day late and a dollar short.” Otis confessed, maybe grateful that the woman had appeared in that moment because he was completely lost.

“Don’t you worry, dear, that’s what I’m here for.” The woman laughed, motioning him to step aside. She pulled a t-shirt and a pair of shorts from the shelves first. “Come on over here, darling.” She called out to Ophelia, hoping to get a general idea of her size by measuring the items against her.

“Ophelia.” Otis beckoned her over.

The girl circled around the shopkeeper wide to come over, eyeing the woman warily.

“She’s just takin’ your measurements.” Otis assured, lightly taking her by the shoulders to turn her the right way around.

“You two aren’t from around here I take it.” The woman chattered away, holding the shirt against Ophelia’s back to check the size and humming in thought.

Ophelia was slim and petite which made most clothing a little large on her. She also didn’t want to stand still or be touched by a random person, putting herself as close to Otis as she could without touching him and glaring resentfully at him for the situation she was forced to endure.

“You could say that.” Otis humoured the small talk only because the shopkeeper was being helpful- though if looks could kill he was sure there would be a hole in his stomach from Ophelia’s glaring.

“Did you come for anything particular?” The shopkeeper was fortunately fast with her calculations, her eyes keen from years of experience.

“Anythin’ she can move ‘round easy in.” Otis let Ophelia go, resting his hand on his belt again and assessing the girl. Her glare was met with a playful one in return. “I just weren’t sure if she’d do anythin’ with a dress.” He couldn’t imagine her being very happy with a flouncy hem.

“She’s very thin, I have to say, most of the summer dresses are gone at that size. There’s a mid-summer fest next week and the school is organising a dance for the little ones so I’ve had excited parents snatching up the good stuff pretty quickly.” The old woman went on, her voice on the opposite side of the shelves now.

Otis left her to talk to herself, moving to inspect the selection of headwear on display nearby.

Ophelia followed him.

“Try this on.” He offered her a sun hat with a wide brim.

Ophelia tried to balance the cowboy hat in her arms and take it at the same time but soon figured out that wouldn’t be possible and so held it out to him to carry it for her.

She made a face at the straw like texture when she touched the sun hat, immediately deciding she didn’t want it and shoving it at him. She didn’t like scratchy material.

“It’s the smallest one, you haven’t even tried it-“ He tried to convince her but she just pushed it harder against his stomach. “Alright.” He sighed, returning it to its perch. “How about this one?” He pointed out a bucket hat instead.

Ophelia stared at it for a long minute and then reached out to touch it. The fabric was soft and the colour was a celadon green, encouraging her to take it from its hook. She brought it over to the mirror stand, waiting to make sure he’d follow her before finally trying it on. It was a bit big on her head, almost looking like a bonnet but she seemed pleased with it at least and it would do a fine job of keeping the sun out.

And just in time, the shopkeeper found them again, a selection of clothing folded neatly over her arm. “I see you found something you like.” She smiled at Ophelia. “And I have just the thing to match.” She slid out a faded green jumpsuit from the pile, holding it out for the girl to look at.

The shade was close enough to the hat even though the fabric was denim.

Ophelia followed the same process- stare, touch, then try- and on that last occasion she seemed intent on trying the jumpsuit over her clothes.

“Hold on now-“ Otis interrupted, although the shopkeeper found it delightful and laughed heartily.

“How about I show you the changing room?” She offered, beckoning Ophelia to come with her to the corner where a curtain had been set up around a free standing mirror and a stool.

“Not much of a room.” Otis remarked.

Ophelia could handle changing her clothes on her own at least.

“I had to convert them to storage.” The shopkeeper admitted, holding the rest of the clothes out to him to inspect. “Besides, there were some lousy teenagers who liked to use them for unintended purposes and I got tired of cleaning up after them. 40 years I’ve had this place, they can’t even respect it.”

Otis let her rant, setting his flower filled hat aside to have a look. The cotton t-shirts were approved but a polo shirt that he guessed would be too rough in texture for Ophelia’s liking was returned.

The woman had also chosen a pair of dresses- one was a neat, white dress with blue patterns that reminded him strangely of antique tea sets from his own childhood, and the second was a linen, shapeless thing in a dull grey.

“I know they’re not great, but you can always come back and exchange them when I get something better in stock.” The shopkeeper seemed almost apologetic for that second choice especially. “These were the only two her size.”

“I guess we’ll see, she might not even want ‘em.” Otis wasn’t going to choose, waiting for Ophelia who lumbered out of the curtain in her new jumpsuit and hat.

She’d kept her old hand-me-down shirt on, and had her shorts tucked under her arm but her expression seemed lighter somehow as she stuffed her hands in the big pockets, fluttering the fabric with obvious delight.

“Sprig, what do you think of these?” Otis held up the dresses for her and let her go through her touch test though she gravitated heavily towards the grey dress, ignoring the fancier one entirely.

She pulled her preference from his hand, handing him her old clothes and marching right back to the curtain which drew another laugh from the shopkeeper.

“She knows what she wants, I’ll give her that.” The woman found it endearing. “Can I get you anything else?” She asked, returning the unwanted articles back to their place:

“No, ma’am, thank you.” Otis was grateful, she’d probably saved him hours.

“I’ll wrap these up for you then.” She smiled and led him over to the counter to register the exchange in the ledger and pack the clothes. “I’ll take those old clothes off you if you don’t need them.” Everything could find a use, and Ophelia surely wouldn’t miss them.

Otis inspected a selection of kerchiefs laid out near the counter while he waited for Ophelia, picking out a silvery one to match her grey dress.

The shapeless, baggy thing that she seemed very enthusiastic to be wearing when she found him again, translating her excited energy into fidgeting with a fabric button at the chest. There were two buttons there though they were purely decorative, and there were two at the cuff of each sleeve, these at least operational.

“Do you like it?” Otis asked, motioning her to come closer.

She gave a pronounced nod, the first positive response he probably got from her, and she was in such a good mood that she even bowed her head to let him tie the kerchief for her.

“You two are matching now.” The shopkeeper noted with a light bit of teasing, referring to the bandana he wore.

Otis offered a non-committal hum, extracting himself from her fawning by taking the packed clothes and finding his hat.

Ophelia patted her head to test the kerchief, trailing after her brother again.

“Not too tight?” Otis asked, holding the hat of flowers out to her so he could keep a hand free.

Ophelia shook her head, satisfied with her new wardrobe and skipped through the door back out to the street.

They got sandals in her size instead of the large flip-flops, and sunscreen from the chemist, and by the time the shopping was done, Ophelia was walking next to him instead of behind him. Otis even managed to pick out a gift for Maria and Tommy since he was supposed to be visiting for dinner with Joel in the evening.

Ophelia watched the street safely from under the colourful awnings of the shops they passed, slowing to a halt in the display window of the bakery where rows of delicious looking cakes and pastries roused her curiosity.

Janet made savoury pies more than sweet ones, and she was especially tight on how much sugar Ophelia and Otto got to eat. It was once on Sundays, but sometimes a swirl of honey in her morning oatmeal on weekdays.

Otis came to stand beside her, sliding a packet of flavoured toothpicks he’d gotten from the chemist out of his pocket. “They’re not real, you know.” He told her, slipping one into his mouth. It wasn’t enough to stave off a cigarette craving but he’d promised Joel he’d stay off them.

Ophelia looked up at him quizzically.

“Styrofoam and spackle.” Not that the girl knew what either of those things were he supposed. “We’ll get a slice, but you have to eat lunch first, alright?” The afternoon was wearing on now and lunch time was almost past them according to his watch.

Ophelia suddenly remembered her own watch, looking down at the clock face with a discerning frown.

Janet had told her that she’d be back home by the time the little hand was on the number 2 and the big hand was on the 12. The latter was now past the 7 and the former was passing the 2, marking it 3:38PM.

“Sorry, I lost track of time.” Otis squatted down beside her, setting the paper bags down and moving the tub of sunscreen into one of the others so he could pour her flowers into it. “I’ll get you home.” He shook his hat out to make sure there was no soil or leaves there before replacing it atop his head.

Ophelia didn’t seem worried though which was a relief, and he let her pick out a slice of cake to take home before they left the square.

The diner was quiet when they reached it, and Ophelia waited for him on the porch. It surprised him that she didn’t seem tired at all, because Otto was usually tuckered out and demanding to be carried on the journey back after a long day out. Ophelia was more accustomed to walking long distances without a break though, but it was more the new experience that Otis was admittedly proud of her for handling well.

There were no tears nor tantrums, and she hadn’t even panicked when they’d taken too long to come back.

Otis stopped at the door, opening it for Ophelia since he had no real plan to go inside. “You need anythin’ else, get Fenton to find me, alright?” He had no idea how she would do that, but he supposed she’d figure it out.

Ophelia nodded, cradling her cakebox in her arms and squinting up at him. This time it wasn’t a glare at least, though she was doing her best with the sun in her face.

“Meyer!” Clayton called out to him as she crossed the front yard towards the porch, a barely contained grin on her face. She had a picnic basket in one hand and a baby bag in the other, her sunglasses perched atop her head.

Mel and baby Leah weren’t far behind her, sharing a parasol to protect them against the sun, the toddler babbling softly.

Ophelia didn’t feel very sociable where babies were concerned it seemed, slipping inside the diner to escape the interaction and leaving her brother to deal with it.

He was forced to open the door since Clayton’s hands were full, and by extension go in to drop off Ophelia’s things.

“That’s a right smile, Clayton, all wool and a yard wide today.” The man offered her a tip of his hat and a half smile as she passed him.

“Fucking hell of a day out, sir.” Clayton let out a great big sigh of relief as she dropped the bags on the nearest table. She’d managed to tan in the hours she’d been out in the sun though she seemed rather energised for it. “Date night yourself? I haven’t seen you in civvy clothing since… oh, I don’t know.”

“Do I need an occasion?” Otis set the packages on the bar, moving to get himself a glass of water.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Clayton scoffed, smug about her guess. “Get us an Indian tonic, would you?”

“Get it yourself.” Otis retrieved a couple of water bottles from the mini-fridge under the bar, handing one to Mel as she eased herself into a stool at the counter.

It was obvious she was tired but her expression looked lighter since the previous day which was a good sign. “Thanks.” She was grateful for the water, unaccustomed to Wyoming’s sweltering climate. “The heat out there is brutal.” She gently touched the cold bottle to Leah’s cheek to make sure she was cooled, but the girl fussed, squirming in protest to the action.

“Always playing favourites, Meyer.” Clayton squeezed past him to get her desired drink, attempting to smack his backside in revenge for shrugging her.

“I’m too tired for this.” Otis batted her hand before she could, accustomed to her over-friendly mannerism— it wasn’t exclusive really, for some reason her and Jones had a habit of smacking people whether it was in greeting or retaliation. “You got any aspirin on you?”

“In the bag.” Clayton always carried a first aid kit.

“Is everything okay?” Mel asked softly, concern evident in her tone.

“Yeah, I’ll be alright.” Otis dismissed, moving to search for the desired item. “Y’all take it easy now.” He waved the packet at Clayton to tell her he was taking the lot.

“Wha- you’re leaving already?” Clayton complained. “We literally just got back.” She had tea she wanted to spill and Jones wasn’t around for her to bother him.

“Can’t be late for my date, right?” Otis called back over his shoulder.

“I fucking knew it!” Clayton sent him off with a middle finger as a good luck charm.

Low jazz complemented the buzz of cicadas filtering in through the open windows and doors, the record player belting out the quirky notes smoothly to provide an ambience for Joel’s afternoon coffee.

He’d made cold steak sandwiches with a dill and mustard sauce, but they sat covered on the counter, waiting for Otis to come back so they could have lunch together.

He’d moved the strawberry cheesecake to the fridge so it could set properly in time for the evening, but knowing his boyfriend’s sweet tooth, he’d fixed a quick dessert using the leftover strawberries and graham crackers, making an easy vanilla custard to layer it up in a tall glass with some whipped cream in between.

These simple tasks gave Joel something to fill the time with so that he wasn’t thinking so much about the quiet in the house— something which had become almost unbearably loud since Ellie had moved out. The frequency of his patrols with Tommy had decreased too, though he saw his brother almost every day at the workshop during the week.

Maybe it was actually his relationship with Otis. Before, Joel didn’t think about being alone since he wasn’t expecting anyone else around, but now he found himself checking the time and planning his day around the man being there to share it.

A knock came at the screen door just as Joel finished pouring his coffee. He wasn’t expecting any guests but a quick peek through the kitchen curtains revealed Ellie standing on the porch.

She caught the twitch of the curtain and raised a hand in greeting, wiping sweat from her brow.

“The door’s unlocked, let yourself in.” Joel was glad to see her but also confused by the impromptu visit. He grabbed his cane from where he’d left it against the island and moved to meet her in the entryway.

“Hey, Joel.” Ellie looked like she’d had quite a day already, her short-sleeve button down damp with sweat and her tank top in an equally sorry state. She kicked off her sneakers and tried to set them neatly to one side before she ventured in, a brown paper bag in her hand.

“Hey, kiddo.” Joel still invited her in for a hug. “How long were you out there? You’re sticky.” He couldn’t help a bit of harmless teasing.

“A while, you can say I took the long way round.” Ellie didn’t seem in a rush to let him go though, wrinkling her nose playfully at the smell of his coffee. “At least I don’t smell like burned shit.”

“You smell worse.” Joel replied, defending his coffee from her uncultured snark. “Are you visiting or just stopping by? I’ve got some of your clothes still if you want a shower.”

“I’ll stay if you’ll have me.” Ellie joked, leaning back to look at him with a smile.

It wasn’t her brightest and there were bags under her eyes from a sleepless night or more. Joel figured if there was anywhere he wanted her to be when the weight of the world was on her shoulders, then it was with him so that he could help her carry it. “You know you’re welcome anytime.” He assured. “Did you eat yet?”

Ellie held up the bag she’d brought, the light clinking of glass bottles being heard from inside it. “I was going to ask you the same thing. I grabbed us lunch.”

“Long way to go for lunch, I have some steak sandwiches made.” Joel motioned for her to go on ahead and put it somewhere since he had his coffee in one hand and cane in the other.

“I grabbed some bao buns from this new place, I wanted to try them together.” Ellie admitted, choosing the coffee table in the living room since it was closer and more comfortable for Joel.

“Can’t say I’ve ever tried ‘em.” Joel followed her at his own pace, delaying his questions. If he’d learned anything from the past months of tension between them, it was that Ellie would talk when she was ready.

“I’ll shower real quick, don’t start without me.” Ellie excused herself.

“Your clothes are in the laundry room!” Joel called after her.

“Okay!” Came the distant answer followed by the sound of rummaging through boxes before the young woman disappeared into the bathroom upstairs.

Joel sighed as he eased himself into the couch, cradling his favourite owl mug and glancing over to the clock. Otis was late, but Joel wouldn’t have minded if he took just a little longer so Ellie could feel at ease if she wanted to talk—

And then there it was again, the guilt of a father who’d brought an unwanted step-parent into the home. Early in their relationship, he’d wondered if Ellie would have been happier if Tess was here instead but he hated even considering it now.

Ellie, as far as Joel knew, didn’t hate Otis so much as she struggled to share Joel’s attention. She was going through a difficult period in her life, one where she needed Joel more than ever, and that meant Otis was in the way by default.

Joel appreciated the man’s patience on the matter, but deep down he was afraid he’d take it too much for granted and that Otis would leave. It was why he felt threatened by Janet, even though Otis had assured him that he had no interest in the woman.

Between a man who made him his last priority and a woman who desperately chased him… Joel was afraid that the scale was tipped very much off-balance.

Joel promised himself it was temporary; that he would do right by Otis as soon as Ellie was settled, but it was difficult to ignore the anxiety gnawing away at him.

Coffee probably didn’t help but it was his guilty pleasure and he didn’t even think about it twice, bringing the cup to his lips and taking a sip of the rich, bitter drink.

He finished the beverage by the time Ellie was done in the shower, and began to unpack the food bag, carefully extracting the condensation slicked bottles of iced tea, quarter-slices of fresh lemon vibrant inside the liquid gold drink.

“Man, that hit the spot.” Ellie sighed, working a towel through her hair haphazardly. She’d kept it short since she’d cut it, a decision she had yet to regret since the season changed, though it suited her well.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re starting to sound like an old man.” Joel teased, unpacking the food next.

Trays of neatly lined buns were set out on the table, the soft, fluffy bao given a pop of colour by the red cabbage slaw, and a rich crunch by the perfectly crispy fried chicken, topped off by a spicy kewpie mayo that added a perfectly tangy zing.

“If I was an old man, I’d sit on the front porch in my underwear with a cooler full of beers and a bong like Eugene.” Ellie quipped, dropping into the couch beside him none too gently and helping herself.

“Dry your hair properly .” Joel nagged lightly, opening her drink for her before taking a bun for himself. “You can do what Eugene did when you get to that age, for now I’d say keep your pants on.” It was a bit of ironic advice considering she’d opted to wear her girl shorts but they were loungewear so it didn’t matter.

Ellie laughed, licking sauce from her thumb and forefinger. “Retirement sounds good sometimes but I still have a lot I want to do.”

Joel gave her the lid of one of the trays so she could eat without worrying about making a mess. “Like what?” He prompted, taking his first bite. He didn’t know what to expect, southern cooking wasn’t exactly the most spicy and he was wary of Pan-Asian cuisine ever since Robin introduced him to some of the most delicious but painful dishes to eat.

Otis had not been very impressed with his spice-intolerance either to say the least, though he’d tried to tone it down whenever he cooked so Joel could enjoy the food too.

“Well…” Ellie chewed thoughtfully as she filtered through her plans to decide what to share first. “I want to make an art room, so I can throw paint about without worrying about the fucking furniture.” She shrugged, folding one of her legs on the couch as she leaned back to sit more comfortably.

“That can wait, can’t it?” Joel kept his focus on his food, trying not to let the bao fall apart but it was a bit messy. “With the baby, you and Dina can’t go out there for a while yet.” He didn’t want it to sound like he was glad for it, but he would feel infinitely better if Ellie didn’t go to live in the middle of nowhere- telling her not to was not an option though.

Ellie was quiet, taking a napkin to wipe her hands before crumpling it up and grabbing her drink.

Joel sat back to look at her when the silence drew on too long, trying to determine whether he’d stepped on a land mine by pointing it out. For once, it wasn’t him putting his foot in his mouth though.

“Honestly… I don’t know.” Ellie reached for another bun.

“What do you mean?” Joel decided it was more effort than it was worth and so settled for the iced tea for now.

“Dina didn’t really want the baby when she found out,” Ellie confessed. “I thought she was just scared ‘cuz she thought I wouldn’t be okay with it, so my stupid ass told her I would stay no matter what she decided.”

“And?” Joel sensed that she was having second thoughts.

“I don’t know.” Ellie shrugged again, talking around her mouthful. “The baby’s not the problem, I think.”

Joel was lost, getting her to talk was like pulling teeth so he just waited until she continued at her own pace.

“Robin insisted that Dina and I stay over until the baby’s old enough or some shit, so I was like- awesome, someone who knows what the fuck they’re doing, right?” Ellie slunk in her seat, stuffing another bun into her mouth whole.

“Right.” Joel had only felt comfortable leaving the hospital because Robin had bullied him into agreeing that she was better qualified to look out for the girls, and really he didn’t feel like he had a say when it was her grandchild being born. Add to that the fact that he wouldn’t have a clue on how to provide postpartum care for Dina, Robin was honestly a godsend. “Is she making you uncomfortable?” The thing he worried about was Robin’s overzealous nature, and though she was a good woman, Joel didn’t know her well enough to say how she would treat the girlfriend of her son’s ex who was having his baby.

“No…” Ellie sighed.

Joel watched her expression begin to crumble, his tone gentle as he spoke, “So tell me what the problem is.”

It was evident from the way she clamped up that she was upset. Worse than feeling incapable or insufficient though, Ellie felt stupid for being upset about something like this and her eyes were threatening to tear up. “I feel so fucking stupid.” Her words were strangled by the lump in her throat, but she refused to cry about it.

Joel opened his arm out for her, offering a hug that she slowly tipped herself into, her arms coming around herself as she leaned her head on his chest. He squeezed her gently against his side to offer some comfort while she put her words together.

It was enough that she didn’t cry. “It’s Jesse.” She said in a small voice, her hand lightly settling on Joel’s broken watch and tracing the familiar cracks to distract herself. “He’s not doing anything, just being himself, trying to help- but he’s always there.”

“Well… his son was just born…” Joel pointed out reluctantly, not trying to dismiss her feelings because he could guess where this was going.

“That’s exactly it! JJ’s his and Dina’s, and I’m just the fucking extra.” Ellie tried not to get frustrated though the emotion was directed at herself. “Like, it’s weird- are we going to be 3 people raising this kid?” She tried to focus on the practical side more than the ugly feelings that came with it. On the surface it had only been a day, but the truth was that Ellie had started stressing out about this ever since she realised how serious Jesse was about being a father. What had started off as visiting the library to find parenting books together and exchanging tips had slowly started to turn into what the hell Ellie was doing.

Jesse didn’t even seem to notice, but Ellie couldn’t ignore how much he’d changed since the incident with the Salvagers.

Martin’s story and death had haunted him in many ways, but maybe what scared Ellie was that she still had a lot of growing up to do. Robin’s claim that she didn’t care about Dina had left a deep crack in her already hideous self-image — but for fuck’s sake, Ellie was still trying even though she was terrified that even her best would not be good enough.

And if she failed, what would that mean? She couldn’t stomach the thought of losing Dina.

“Look, Ellie…” Joel’s voice reminded her to breathe through the lump in her throat. “I won’t lie to you and say that being a parent is easy, because it sure as hell ain’t. It’s a real tough thing to learn, especially all on your own.” And especially when she had no one to call mom or dad in her younger years. “Having people around who can help isn’t a bad thing, and getting help doesn’t mean you’re no good either.”

The first tear rolled but Ellie stayed as still as she could, hoping that Joel wouldn’t notice and that he would continue because she was desperate to hear him tell her that it would be alright again.

Joel wasn’t very good with words but he would have done anything in that moment to try and make Ellie feel better. “Hell, I don’t know if I ever mentioned it, but I couldn’t have raised Sarah all on my own, not really.” He was reluctant to talk about his daughter, but if ever there was a time to try, it was now. “You could say we were a three man team- Ma, Tommy and me. Tommy and Sarah, actually, they were thick as thieves those two. He got her playing soccer which I hated at first, damn scared one of the big kids would hurt her-“ He paused and took a breath. “Point is, Dina needs your help just as much as Robin’s and Jesse’s.”

Ellie rubbed her face to wipe the tear, turning to hug him.

“You’ll be alright, kiddo. I know that because Dina loves you, and I can tell you love her.” Joel continued, gently patting her back. It broke his heart to see her like this but it also made him realise that she was still his little girl no matter how eager she was to leave the nest. He was most proud of her for moving past the stage of trying to justify her survival, even just a little. Now she was worrying about the future, she had fallen in love and she was eager to become part of a family. “All you have to do is keep trying, and I’ll be right here too.”

Ellie felt the tears just slip out of her control and she laughed and then sobbed, covering her mouth as she tried to process all of the overwhelming emotions that came pouring out at once. “I’m so scared-“ She sobbed, burrowing into him and curling her fingers into the back of his shirt.

Joel felt himself begin to tear up too and he squeezed her as firmly as he dared. “I’m right here.” He kept repeating.

The truth was that he’d also been scared of losing her, but with everything that had happened, he’d buried that feeling deep and tried to focus on seeing her through everything falling apart around them— his lie had shattered her and he would never not be sorry for it, even if he refused to apologise for not letting her die under Jerry Anderson’s knife.

Ellie’s tears were silent, but she cried herself to exhaustion, the lack of sleep from the past few days making her that much more drained when she finally stopped crying.

Joel held her until she was ready, letting her pull back.

Ellie wiped her face slowly, her reddened eyes downcast in shame but she didn’t apologise. “I wish I didn’t feel stupid all the time.” She mumbled, her voice hoarse.

“Yeah, it’s… just how it is.” Joel offered her the rest of his tea, never sure what to do after the crying session.

Ellie took the drink numbly, holding the bottle without doing anything else.

“You should probably talk to Dina about all this, you know.” Joel told her. “She’s in a relationship with you, not Jesse, and I don’t think she’s really thought about how things are going to work with raising the kid.” Who still made a parenting plan when the world had ended?

“She’s only been talking about what we’re going to do on the farm.” Ellie said, slowly lifting the bottle to have a drink. She was dehydrated and Joel had a wet patch on his shirt now.

“That’s what she’s been looking forward to then, what you’re making together.” Joel tried to assure.

Ellie hoped that was true, but it had also frustrated her because she was too much of a coward to dilute their dream with her insecurities.

Joel gently nudged her cheek. “If Jesse was so good, Dina wouldn’t have broke up with him in the first place, don’t worry.” He felt bad making a joke at Jesse’s expense but his baby girl was worth it as far as he was concerned.

Ellie tried not to smile but she failed. “She said he was boring.” She loved Jesse to bits, he was her ride-or-die, but she was sure he could forgive her this one time.

“She obviously hasn’t heard you talking about your comic books enough then- what was it called?” Joel continued in jest.

“Hey, fuck you, Savage Starlight is only the best series ever!” Ellie let him bait her, fully aware that he was just trying to cheer her up and although she was past the point of falling for it, just knowing that he tried brought her comfort. It was strange and maybe because she was just emotional and exhausted, but it almost made her cry again- this time of relief.

“No, that’s Curtis and Viper.” Joel argued, offering her a napkin before standing to make an attempt at packing away the leftovers.

“Curtis and Viper is so cheesy.” Ellie stood to help, and let herself just be her father’s daughter for the rest of the afternoon.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12: Secret Admirer

Sunshine.

Owen leaned back as far as he could, turning his face up to the sun and letting it bathe him in its warmth.

He’d been walking for days, his worn boots sweating his feet since they were more suited for winter than Wyoming’s humidity. In fact, most of his clothes were, so he’d tied his jacket around his waist and rolled the cuffs of his cargo pants to make it more bearable until he could find alternatives.

Jordan’s blood was now an indiscernible dark patch on his jacket, long since dried but difficult to part with.

Maria had given him a week’s worth of provisions and a map, marked only with his drop off location, but he was weak and lost regardless.

Warm, freshly cooked meals had been supplied every day while he was incarcerated, but Owen had lost interest in eating and only ever picked at the food to stave off the hunger aches, leaving him fatigued and emaciated.

He didn’t know if he’d ever felt well rested, or if he’d ever been strong enough to manage the physical labour of navigating the world after it had ended- everything outside of that small room he’d been in for the last six months or so had become a memory.

His first steps had a dream like quality, and even now he felt like he couldn’t shake off the haze.

How did he get here? He didn’t dare to look back. The road behind him was wet with blood and charred cinders.

He wiped his sweaty palms on the thighs of his pants, hoping to dismiss the feeling. He had blood on his hands, he knew he did. He’d worn circular paths into the floorboards of the Jackson cell walking round and round as if trying to explore every possible path that had brought him to this present or some alternative future.

The last time Owen Moore had been able to look at himself in the mirror, Joel Miller had been one leg richer, Leah was still alive, and he had fought with Jordan and Manny to let Ellie and Tommy live.

‘Innocent’, he’d protested.

And then he chose to follow Abby through Dante’s inferno, nine circles into hell because he’d shrugged Mel off every time she’d insisted they turn back. He couldn’t really blame Abby though. He’d been too optimistic and greedy, believing that everything would end once the smuggler was dead and they would go back to their 16 year old selves- and that he would see her smile again, the way she used to before her father died.

Owen believed it was some cruel joke how they’d ended up here, retracing Joel Miller’s footsteps. Joel had killed Marlene and Jerry, and knowing that the Fireflies wouldn’t leave him be, he’d killed more. The Salt Lake Crew had found him though, because he hadn’t killed everyone- maybe just enough to survive, though Owen loathed giving him any kind of justification. Then it was their turn. They started with Joel, and then lost Nick to the Marauders. Owen let Abby take the fall for the decision to fight the Marauders, but the truth was that he was scared of the Shark Mask. He was scared of losing his friends, and he was scared of losing Mel and Abby especially.

What had kept him there was a need to see the end, but he’d never imagined that this was what it looked like.

Mel couldn’t look him in the eye, he’d shot Leah by accident, Jordan and Nick were dead- Abby, Nora, Manny- gone. He didn’t know where they were, but he’d bartered their lives for Mel’s with the devil so he wasn’t optimistic. If they had made it back to Seattle, he hoped that Isaac had given them another chance though deep down he hoped they never went back to the WLF.

Manny had always talked about how he wanted to visit home in Mexico as soon as his father was well enough to get on the road. He’d invited them all to come along, and it was the only kind of future plan that Abby had seemed even remotely interested in- never anything that Owen suggested, though he’d convinced himself at the time that she would come around when the topic of the Fireflies didn’t bring her so much grief. But Manny’s father never did get any better and as the years wore on, Mexico became just another mirage.

They’d all settled except him. He’d always believed that their time with the Washington Liberation Front was just a temporary, dark chapter. The WLF had no greater cause, they were united behind a hate-monger and a war for resources. The Fireflies still had something to fight for, or at least Owen believed they did. But maybe that was his mistake and that was what made him flip out so hard when he found himself trapped in Jackson. Owen had believed that he- that they were better than people like Isaac and the Shark Mask. They didn’t kill because they enjoyed it, they didn’t kill to take or oppress. It was… just survival, and at one point, a fight against a fascist regime.

The reason didn’t matter much anymore though, Owen had to live with what he’d done, but he allowed himself to find comfort in one thing- that the person who deserved a second chance the most had it. Owen promised himself that he would find Mel and little Leah when he was a better man, however long that took.

For now, he moved under the shade of the nearby trees, pausing to retrieve the water canteen from his bag.

Two more sips and it would be running on empty, reminding him that he had to find some water soon. He wiped the sweat from his brow, unfolding the map for an indicator of where he might be. Most of the terrain had changed; roads had collapsed, water sources were obscured by thick vegetation, and even the little towns and settlements were overrun by Infected or already picked clean by Hunters.

It never weighed so much on him how alone he was until he had no one to talk to about this.

He took his chances on the water, drinking a little more before shouldering his bag and holding the map up to memorise the next few roads he intended to take. His heading for now was to get to the Aquarium in Seattle, one last flame of hope that he would reunite with whoever had survived from his crew— and if Isaac hadn’t taken them back, they would definitely be there. After that, he would fix up the old ship docked there, and convince them to come with him to Santa Barbara to follow the trail of the California Fireflies.

It seemed logical, he had it all figured out in his head. Leaving all this behind was the first step to finding his way back to himself, and if the plan to find the Fireflies really did pan out then they would have shelter and food and a likeminded community so that Mel wasn’t forced to stay in Jackson. How he would convince them not to shoot him on sight when he turned up at the gates again he didn’t know yet, but maybe with time they would forget his face or forgive his sins- whichever came first.

Owen stuck to the shade as he trekked along the side of the road, making it twenty minutes before tarmac gave way to a collapsed tree, withered and dried from years of lying there in the elements. Ahead should have been the interstate, but just like every other road leading away from the city, it was a vehicle graveyard. Abandoned cars and caravans left in disarray, some gutted by fire and others the victims of rust.

Anything that might have been useful here once was likely long gone. Worse than that, any open stretch of road with artificial blockades was a Hunter’s favourite playground.

Owen veered off the road and decided to cut into the forest, grateful for the light breeze that stirred through the foliage.

He couldn’t tell what this place might have looked like once, but there was a bus stop up ahead, now green with lichen. He’d seen the mark on his map and just to make sure the numbers matched, he’d drew it out again.

The rustle of the paper was perfectly timed with a distant sound that made Owen pause and listen.

Nothing. Just the sound of birds and cicadas, far away and out of sight.

Had he imagined it?

When no other sound followed, he tried to convince himself that it was just his imagination, but even then his jaw was tense and he couldn’t shake off the bad feeling.

He could turn back. Find another way. The roads were dangerous but at least he could hear and see more easily.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, paralysed with indecision, but after the soles of his feet began to itch with discomfort, he forced himself to push on. If that sound was from the Infected, he had plenty of cover to move around but he doubted he’d find any he couldn’t handle out here. The humidity made them migrate to cool, damp places mostly, but just in case, he found himself a sturdy branch as a weapon.

Sweat matted his hair and left dark patches down the back of his t-shirt, fatigue catching up to him quickly from the difficult journey but he found no trouble… at least for a while.

“Back the fuck up!”

Erwin heard the shouting before he broke the tree line into the clearing, his arms weary from lugging the buckets of water all the way back to camp alone. “Hey!“ He tried to interrupt, using the last of his energy to cross the short distance over to the others.

“Are you fucking crazy?!” Robert was seething, his machete raised threateningly towards Chloe who had her bow drawn on him in return.

“Yeah, I’m a psycho bitch and I’ll fuck you up if you come any closer!” Chloe challenged.

“Guys! Stop!” Erwin almost dropped the buckets, sloshing water everywhere as he put them down hurriedly to get between them.

“Stay the fuck out of this!” Chloe warned, though she didn’t seem as eager to keep her arrow nocked with him in the way. “We’re not doing this shit again, you don’t get to take from us just because you’ve got a dick between your legs.”

“I wasn’t trying to take shit from you!” Robert denied, setting Chloe off and then they were bickering again.

“Calm the fuck down!” Erwin raised his voice to be heard over them, his unusual cursing getting them to briefly fizzle down.

“Guys, can’t we just talk this over?” Rachel didn’t dare to step forward from behind Chloe, looking like she might have a nervous break down but she was holding herself together purely for the two children clinging on to her.

The twins, Jack and Annie, were maybe 10 years old though only Mother Enid had really been keeping track. Whose children they were or where their parents were now had died with her and the blind priest apparently.

Erwin took a breath, wiping his sweat matted hair from his face before trying again. “What happened?”

Chloe and Robert tried to speak at the same time.

“Chloe first!” Erwin had to clarify.

Robert didn’t even attempt to hide his displeasure at the priority being given to the woman, but he held his tongue, lowering his weapon reluctantly to check on his own son. Ben was 14 years old, and had blood running from his nose thanks to taking a nasty hit to the face with a blunt object.

The culprit? Erwin didn’t take long to spot Jack with the bloodied bat even though he was hiding behind Rachel.

“Ugh…” Chloe finally lowered her bow, glaring at Robert though she didn’t exactly appreciate Erwin’s assumed mediation. She had nothing against the guy, he was probably the only man she could say she trusted from the Illuminated, but it was a bit of a blow to her pride when he was the youngest between them. “So…” Still, she didn’t want to kill anymore. She’d done enough of that just to leave the compound. “I caught some squirrels this morning, left them with Rach to clean while I got the campfire going,” She huffed in frustration at having to explain. “Then this fucking weasel and his entitled son started helping themselves-“

“I told you I didn’t take shit!” Robert cut in, exasperated at her continued accusation. “Count them your fucking self!”

Erwin had a headache already, but he still blocked Robert with his arm before his passionate gesticulation could be mistaken for aggression. Chloe was on her last nerve and she didn’t need a reason to stick him full of arrows.

“Then what the fuck is this?!” Chloe snatched the torn remains of a squirrel carcass from the ground, splashing blood and bits everywhere.

“He took a fucking leg! He’s a kid!” Robert’s voice rose a pitch in his exasperation. “You think killing him is the answer?“

“Kid?” Chloe scoffed at him. “He’s fucking taller than I am, teach him to find his own fucking food-“

“Guys!” Erwin groaned. “Seriously?” He couldn’t believe they’d come to this. “Chloe, he’s 14.” He tried to point out just how ridiculous this whole thing was.

“I. Don’t. Fucking. Care.” Chloe emphasised. “We’ve got two kids to feed already, if his dad’s a man, he should be feeding his son.” She didn’t have enough time or arrows to keep hunting for the whole group. They had one bow and two machetes between five adults, one kid with a baseball bat he’d picked up and a teenager who made do with sharpening sticks.

Robert was quiet, humiliated by the whole situation and Chloe’s words. He’d been trying to help by collecting firewood but besides that, he wasn’t much use. No surprise there considering he’d been stuck to Jacob’s heels the last God knew how many years while travelling with the Illuminated.

Erwin was honestly at a loss too. He hunted when he got his turn with the bow, but it was now with Tyron who was on watch duty. They needed to get to the city soon if they wanted supplies, but travelling with children had slowed them down a lot.

“Look… we really shouldn’t be fighting about this.” Erwin still tried. It was better to stick together, their chances on the road alone- well… that was a moot argument. The group was a mixture of former Seraphites and citizens. If it came down to it, the archers had a better chance at survival without the deadweight. That kind of logic was more likely to come from his sister though, and he honestly didn’t feel right even contemplating it. “I get it, your labour, you get to decide who eats,” He tried to find a compromise. “But that doesn’t make it right to beat his kid, we’ve had enough violence already.”

“Wasn’t me.” Chloe responded pettily. “I just wanted to make sure we’d have no more problems.” She had a funny way of policing the situation, but at least she seemed to relent.

“Alright then, if you’re going to act like we’re not a team, give me the fucking bow and I’ll make sure my boy eats.” Robert demanded.

He set her off again. “Oh now you want to act like a team?” Chloe scoffed, turning to walk away while laughing. “You’re not getting the bow.” She declined. It would be wasted on him and he would likely break the last five arrows they had without catching anything.

“It’s not your fucking bow, it was Melissa’s.” Robert argued.

“No-” Chloe barely got to decline before he lunged for her, and the situation quickly got out of hand again.

“You bitch! Why are you acting all high and mighty, huh?!” Robert caught her by the hair, jerking her back harshly.

“Let me fucking go!” The woman clawed at his hand. “This is exactly why!”

“Robert!” Erwin tried to grab him but Ben quickly moved to help his father, trying to pry the bow off her while she was distracted.

“Get off her!” Rachel moved to Chloe’s defence but it didn’t make Erwin’s job any easier because it encouraged Jack to start waving his bat again.

The ruckus brought Tyron running. “Erwin! What the hell is going on, man?!” He had his bow at the ready though he didn’t exactly know how to handle the situation when it turned out to be in-fighting.

“Get him off her!” Erwin begged, relieved when the larger man came to his aid.

“Rob! C’mon, man!” Tyron grabbed Robert around his middle, hoisting as much as he could but Robert let go only when he had a clump of Chloe’s hair in his hand and Ben had succeeded in snatching the bow. “Man, what the hell is wrong with y’all?!” Tyron dragged him away to put some distance between them.

“You okay?” Erwin held his hand to Chloe’s head but the woman shoved him off. “Chloe-“

“I’m not fucking okay!” Her eyes were brimming with angry tears, face red with humiliation as she tried to compose herself. “What part of this is okay?!” She demanded to know. “We had to shut up and be quiet for four fucking years while men told us what we could and couldn’t fucking do! We had to starve, we had to get married to weak, pathetic men like him to not be treated like slaves in that fucking convoy!”

Erwin knew because he’d seen it, but it was still a slap to the face to be reminded when he was trying to focus on anything but that. It still felt like they’d walked out of hell, and that none of this was real because any second now John Ackerman would roll up with his Salvagers to drag them back to their reality. Then they would all be hurt for breaking the rules and there was not a thing Father Martin could do to spare them.

Even Robert looked ashamed at this reminder, though he had some nerve.

“How is this any fucking different?!” Chloe demanded to know.

Erwin took on a greater sense of guilt as if he was somehow at fault for it all. “I’m sorry, I’m trying-“

“Fuck your sorry!” The woman wasn’t interested in apologies, angrily wiping her tears and making an attempt at smoothing her hair. Her scalp throbbed with pain, but the hair had come out easily from malnourishment. “Fuck all of this. You can have the fucking bow, we don’t need you.” She turned to grab her things.

Rachel reluctantly followed suit, prompting the twins to grab their bags. Naturally she would go with her, she felt safer being spoken up for by the other woman.

“Where are you going?” Erwin asked. “Chloe, please, let’s just talk about this.” He’d tried so hard.

“Fuck off and leave us alone!” Chloe warned.

“Just let them go, we don’t need them.” Robert interjected.

“Man, shut up.” Tyron snubbed him. “You’ve really done it now.” He didn’t hesitate to grab his things either.

“What? You can’t live without pussy?!” Robert called after him, earning a disgusted look from the man over his shoulder. “That man-hating bitch will kill you! Don’t say I didn’t warn ya!”

It had all fallen apart.

Erwin was exhausted, but he hadn’t allowed himself a second of rest because he needed to keep them going. The idea of a group- of familiarity- had been an excuse not to be a coward. He didn’t know where his sister was, but she wasn’t around to fix everything anymore so he’d tried. And now he knew why he didn’t in the first place. He wasn’t charismatic like Martin, he couldn’t understand people like Melissa. It felt like no one cared about anyone else and that realisation was crushing any faith he’d deluded himself into holding on to.

Why were they all so selfish?

He wished he was strong enough to tell Chloe she was right, but what good would that do? Robert was unstable, and taking sides could only make that worst. Erwin couldn’t stop him if the man really exploded, he couldn’t even get him to let go of Chloe’s hair a moment ago—

“Erwin.” Robert’s sudden jostling made him flinch and step away. “What? You thought I was going to beat you? I’m not Jacob.” He tried to make a joke out of it but there was no one to laugh and Erwin wasn’t in the mood to humour him. “Come on, we’re burning daylight. Which way?” He couldn’t read a map worth a damn, but even if he could, he hadn’t really travelled anywhere on his own. The beautiful thing about digital age convenience was that it made people too lazy to learn basic skills, his GPS wasn’t going to help anymore now that the world had virtually ended.

“Uh… I need a minute.” Erwin felt sick. He moved over to his things, unpleasantly aware of the way Robert’s eyes followed him. He retrieved a cloth from his bag- a torn rag from his once neat button down that he’d resorted to using for other purposes since it was too hot. He wore a t-shirt and joggers instead since they were lighter and easier to move in. He’d picked them up from a house they’d passed on the way, taking a spare change of clothes since he couldn’t stand the thought of being covered in sweat for days but he’d quickly learned the impracticality of hand washing anything while on the road. They didn’t have the water to spare, and they couldn’t stop every time someone wanted a shower.

He hated this even more because doing laundry was a relaxing ritual for him. From the sorting, the soaping, the washing, the drying- all the way to his favourite, the folding. He didn’t think about much when he was going through the familiar motions, and on good days when there was no one around to make fun of him for it, he even sang or hummed.

Now though, there was a lump in his throat and he briefly contemplated following the others. Would Robert believe him if he said that was the right way? He considered it-

“Hey.” Robert’s tone was firm but not threatening. Not yet. “We should take what we can carry and ditch the rest.” He moved to collect the empty bottles from around their camp site to fill them with water from the buckets.

“Yeah.” Erwin agreed, his voice strained as he looked around, still paralysed by his own indecision.

Who had the machete? His eyes found the blade strapped to Robert’s belt. Of course, he’d been threatening Chloe with it earlier. And Ben had the bow. He didn’t want to hurt the boy but he would be the easier target- stop it. He had to stop himself from pursuing that line of thought. The others would be fine, they had the numbers and the more skilled fighters. Would it be so bad if he went with Robert and his son? He tried to find some comfort in reuniting with the others when they all made it to Jackson, they were all going the same way anyway. And even if Robert was a douchebag, he was significantly less bad than Jacob who had been- as Otis Meyer so eloquently put it- a fucking playground bully.

Some part of Erwin regretted not taking the ride straight to Jackson with him, but he would never leave Melissa behind. Or at least that was what he’d thought. It seemed like his sister hadn’t hesitated to run at the first sign of freedom. She didn’t need him holding her back any longer, she was smarter and stronger than he was, but she’d stayed put for his sake ever since they were children. Honestly, Erwin struggled to be resentful thinking that she might have finally given up on him and put herself first for once. Wherever she was, he hoped that she was safe and happy, and that she was eating lots of good food and sleeping in a comfortable bed that she wouldn’t have to share with him- her snoring was obnoxious, he definitely wouldn’t miss it.

“Dad.” Ben suddenly spoke up.

“What?” Robert asked, throwing anything else he deemed of use into Erwin’s bag. “Make yourself useful and help us pack.” He grumbled impatiently.

“Dad! I think I heard something.” Ben pressed more urgently, testing the draw of the bow in his hands. It wasn’t as easy as the archers made it look, the string was tight and took quite a bit of effort to draw back. Add to that something neither of them had considered… Chloe and Tyron had taken the arrows in their quivers. The bow was useless.

Erwin and Robert both stopped what they were doing to look over at the boy.

Ben indicated lightly towards the trees, in the direction that Erwin had come from earlier. “Over there, I’m pretty sure I saw something.”

They waited. And then waited some more. Nothing stirred.

“Did you hear or did you see something?” Robert asked doubtfully. Anything could be moving through the undergrowth, the forest was rich with unseen wildlife so it wasn’t unusual.

Ben was starting to doubt himself, nothing looked out of place now that he looked again.

“Well, whatever it is, let’s not stick around to find out.” Erwin was already on edge and didn’t need to be thinking about lurkers. He still had nightmares about the Stalkers he and Melissa had encountered in the city one night, their screwed faces appearing to grin at him from around corners before running away to play their little hiding game. He didn’t want to think about being out here when night fell, at least back then they had been able to lock themselves in a room and put as much furniture between the door and themselves as physically possible. Those things still found their way into the ceiling, crawling between the wiring and tiles and watching them from every corner, waiting for the moment they let their guard down.

Ben lingered a minute behind them until his father called to him, and then it was just the three of them clearing their way out of the woodlands and following the winding river ahead towards the Jackson Lake Dam.

And when all was quiet, a cloak of foliage rose up, footsteps whispering through grass in pursuit.

It took them almost three hours till they saw the flat water, the sun starting to die on the horizon. The season made its setting late in the day, but Erwin wasn’t eager to travel much further with Ben dragging his feet.

He was hungry, he’d complained, something that a ration of mushroom soup- with soup being just boiled water- hardly satisfying the boy.

They needed to find or make shelter, and the lake was a grand bit of water that they had no direct way of crossing from where they’d left the woods. It was vast and open, with a road crossing over the dam at the very far end which meant they had to circle around to reach it.

“Well, we’ve got no end of water at least.” Robert remarked, shading his eyes against the shimmering reflection of red light.

“Yeah, and no shelter.” Erwin sighed, digging into his pocket for the map. His bag was heavy no thanks to everything Robert had stuffed into it- practically all the gear, two sleeping bags and at least three bottles of water. “Grand Teton is at least another four hours out and we haven’t got enough daylight left.”

“So? We keep walking.” Robert pushed on, deciding on everyone’s behalf to speed the process along.

Erwin took a few steps after him, still consulting the map.

“Dad, I’m tired.” Ben whined. “We’ve been walking for hours.”

“I know, son.” Robert walked slower as if that might help. “But we can’t stay out here.”

“Yeah, but we’re going to need to start a fire within the next hour.” Erwin toned in.

“So we’ll walk for an hour and then start one. Plenty of dry wood, shouldn’t be hard.” Robert continued.

He wasn’t listening to either of them, but Erwin didn’t give it much thought. Their trip so far had been mostly quiet, there didn’t seem to be much Infected around Wyoming, at least not out here. They’d encountered some at the compound but that was probably because a group of people travelling together, mainly the convoy, was a lot of noise and very slow movement. The fact everyone was practically chained together just made it that much easier a target for anything that wanted a human meal.

“Do you think your wife might be there?” Robert asked, never leaving him alone with his thoughts for long enough.

“Where?” Erwin was distracted folding the map, he’d almost forgotten the lie that he and Melissa had lived. It was gross to think about so he didn’t think about it.

“Jackson. This magical place you and Chloe keep describing.” Robert replied.

“I don’t know.” Erwin could hope.

Robert hadn’t really believed Jackson existed, Chloe had been sceptical about it too at first but she’d been the first to volunteer to go with Erwin when he mentioned it. Apparently Maria had talked to some of the women about it too, but most had been too afraid to brave the road. A fight had broken out when they announced their departure though, a group of men trying to wrest control of the Illuminated after it turned out that neither Martin nor John were coming back. No one knew what to think nor what to do, they’d all spent so long following rules and orders that it had taken at least a week before anyone dared to ask questions. The first two weeks then went by with most too afraid of the Salvagers to dare break the monotonous routine, even when the patron of the Illuminated wasn’t around to give sermon. When the third week came, a man named Peter tried his hand at preaching, mostly reading from the Bible, but to little effect. They were starving and frustrated by the fourth, and that was when Erwin finally decided to speak up. He’d been spending the last month searching for his sister around the compound, going as far as the road and finding nothing but corpses. Some of them had been mutilated by hungry animals, so even if his sister was among them, he never found her.

But now they’d been on the road for a month and a half, and they’d had to fight their way out the compound. There had been more of them, at least five others, but one had been beaten to death and three had turned back shortly into their journey. The last had just disappeared one night from the camp and they never found her.

She’d left all of her things though, and Robert suggested that she probably ‘woke up to have a piss and got snatched by something out there’. It wasn’t a comfort.

“You know I never believed any of that.” Robert spoke again after half an hour. The road at the far side never seemed to get any closer but the temperature was starting to drop thanks to the open water helping to stir the wind. “What Jake used to say about you.” Using a nickname for Jacob even now didn’t really inspire much confidence in his claim.

“I don’t know what Jacob used to say. He said a lot of things.” Erwin tried not to employ sarcasm when speaking of the dead. As much as he hoped that Jacob was being tortured by little devils with pitchforks in the after life, he kept that kind of thing to himself.

“He said you’re a fag.” Ben invited himself into the conversation.

“We don’t use that kind of word.” Robert scolded.

Ben rolled his eyes. “Are we almost there?” And went right back to whining.

Robert ignored him, falling into step beside Erwin and though he seemed like he might bring his arm around his shoulders, he thought better of it and just kept his pace. “You’re a good guy, Erwin. You’re kind, smart too. We wouldn’t have made it this far without you.”

Erwin felt like the air was suddenly tight at his throat and his stomach was in knots. “And if I’m into guys?” He dared to ask cautiously, a note of scepticism edging into his voice without his meaning.

“Well, I mean-“ Robert stumbled a little over his affirmations. “I guess it doesn’t matter.” He laughed uncertainly and even more awkwardly patted Erwin’s shoulder. “Look, you had a wife, and you’re not weird about it so that makes us cool.”

Erwin couldn’t tell if Robert was trying to be friendly, understanding or simply patronising. He tried to give him the benefit of the doubt as a small-minded man who’d spent too long in the company of equally small-minded men like Jacob and John. “Melissa and I weren’t really…” He almost admitted their charade, but something made him stop and he wasn’t sure what it was.

“You weren’t really in love? That doesn’t matter. Me and the missus didn’t really marry for love either. We got along alright, even had a kid.” Robert misinterpreted the direction of his sentence. “Kids are great, you’ll understand that when you have ‘em some day.”

Erwin doubted it but didn’t feel like arguing, glad to find a reason to escape this unwanted proximity when he spotted a building through the trees. “Over there, I see something- maybe an outbuilding.” He indicated.

“Fucking finally!” Ben groaned, picking up the pace.

“Nice spot.” Robert’s insistent attempts to praise him weren’t very comfortable but again he ignored it.

The building, upon closer inspection, turned out to be a hunting cabin. A one-storey building made of wood and tin, raised off the ground a little with a small porch to keep the rats out. It couldn’t have been larger than a shed in reality, and the one window looking in was broken though the insect screen underneath was still mostly intact.

Erwin moved around to peer in through it, cupping his hands against his brow to get his eyes adjusted sooner. It was dark inside, dust sheet covered furniture and the vague silhouette of taxidermy figurines extending an unpleasant welcome. “Don’t think anyone’s been here for years.”

“It’s still locked.” Robert noted, unsheathing his machete to break the padlock on the door.

Erwin stepped back to give him space, waiting for a few moments before following the man and his son inside. The dust in here was thick, the air stagnant despite the broken window. He couldn’t help but think that this was exactly what a tomb would smell like, and the mounted deer heads were just an extra creepy touch.

Ben tossed his bag on the nearest surface, finding the couch first and tearing the dust sheet off it. A great puff of dust was thrown into the air from the careless actions, rousing a cough from the teen but he didn’t particularly seem to care, dropping down without any intention to help them prepare for the night ahead. “Dad, I’m hungry.”

“We’re all hungry, you’ll eat when the fire is going.” Robert answered, ever patient.

Erwin went into the next room, finding a bed and a tiny bathroom. He decided to test the tap, expecting nothing, but after a short hum and rumble, water came through.

“Figures this place has plumbing. It’s right next to the lake.” Robert appeared behind him, blocking the door.

Erwin almost jumped, quickly turning the tap off. “Yeah, that makes sense.” He didn’t really attempt to move past him, worried that Robert would actually trap him. He didn’t know why, it was a stupid concern, the man hadn’t done anything to warrant his skittishness but he couldn’t really help it. He’d been high strung on anxiety since before they’d left, and as Robert had already pointed out, he wasn’t Jacob and had never really been violent towards him. Maybe it was the way he’d grabbed Chloe. Men who displayed that kind of aggression towards women and children weren’t exactly likeable. Maybe it was a moment of desperation, Erwin wanted not to think too much about it really.

“Well, how about you go ahead and take a shower first? You did all the heavy lifting today.” Robert suggested, stepping back from the door.

Of course it was silly to be overly conscious of him. He was trying to be considerate.

“You sure?” Or at least Erwin hoped so.

“Yeah, take a load off. Here, give me your bag-“ Robert offered.

“No, thanks, that’s okay. I’ve got my clothes in here. Need those.” Erwin quirked a nervous smile.

“Suit yourself. I’ll air the place out, see if there’s anything useful about.” Robert gave a cordial nod and then excused himself, leaving Erwin in the bathroom alone.

Erwin was relieved to discover a lock, and he turned it as quietly as he could.

Chapter Text

Chapter 13: Over-swept

The aspirin box was crumpled in his hand by the time he reached home, the blister pack inside cutting lightly into his palm from the tightness of his grip. His arm hurt from carrying too many things already, but he was so far into his own thoughts that it was just background noise he’d learned to drown out.

He didn’t heal like he used to when he was younger.

He unlocked the door, removing his hat to hook it on the coat stand nearby. The house was quiet, so much so that he almost walked past Joel and Ellie in the living room but he backtracked a couple of steps, stopping in the doorway.

Joel looked over his reading glasses at him, offering a light smile as he lowered his book a moment. “Hey.” He greeted quietly, trying not to wake Ellie.

The young woman had fallen asleep, exhausted from her emotions and nights of stressing over Dina. But now that Dina had finally given birth, Ellie caved to the fatigue, falling asleep comfortably for the first time in almost two weeks.

She was curled up on her side, an arm folded under her head in lieu of a pillow, close enough to Joel that she was making contact but she hadn’t wanted to burden him by using his lap. Still, it didn’t look comfortable for either of them, Joel squished into the corner with one leg over the other to give her as much space as possible. She’d grown tall in the last five years, shooting up like a ‘beansprout’ as Dina liked to call her. Joel had tried at some point to convince her to go up to the guest bedroom so she could be comfortable but she’d simply whined and snuggled in more closely so he’d let her be.

Sarah had done the same when he’d come home late on weekends, insisting on staying up with him as he watched TV late into the night. He’d order a pizza for them, and he’d have a beer for himself when she’d fallen asleep. And then when he was finally tired too, he’d carry her up to her bed and tuck her in before going to sleep himself.

“Want me to grab you anythin’?” Otis offered, moving over to collect a pillow from the armchair and bringing it over.

Joel shut his book and slid off his glasses to set them to one side, massaging the bridge of his nose. “A coffee would be great.” He requested, feeling like he might fall asleep too. He’d finally picked up reading again but all this space science was a bit much for his attention span on a late summer afternoon.

Ellie whined when Otis moved her arm, though she was quick to settle when the cool pillow was slid in place. “Five more minutes…” She mumbled, not even registering what happened.

“Five and then you go to sleep in the guest room.” Joel bartered, his voice soothing her back to rest.

Otis stayed where he was for a moment, lost in thought. He had that feeling of disconnect again, like he was watching a stranger live out some life he would never have- something he couldn’t reconcile himself with, this quieter, gentler stranger he seemed to have mellowed into. Maybe it was just age or maybe he was trying to forget the violence of the last twenty years, but no matter how many times he had tried to kill the shark mask in the past, the demon hovered over his shoulder and begged him to tithe more blood.

How long could he ignore him this time?

Joel admired Otis pensively, etching the man’s handsome features into his mind and memorising the subtleties he’d learned to pick out in his expressions. Otis Meyer wasn’t a very expressive man, but he spaced out often and Joel didn’t know if it was right to ask him what was on his mind right now. So instead, when he was certain that Ellie wouldn’t be disturbed by his movement, he reached out to touch his hair, as a comfort gesture.

Otis blinked back into focus, turning his gaze to Joel inquisitively when the man pulled lightly at the tie of his bandana.

Joel pulled the fabric away, watching the silvery locks fall against his brow and gently loosening the darker strands from their neat parting. He liked him better dishevelled, he didn’t know why, it just suited the man- or maybe it suited Joel’s idea of him, instead of Janet’s.

Otis caught his wrist, flustering even though there was nothing particularly unusual about the gentle gesture. “I’ll go make you that coffee.” He stood and turned away, attempting to smooth his hair back.

Joel found it adorable, a cheeky grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. He idly played with the fabric in his hand, folding it between his fingers as he watched the man go.

“Can you two flirt when I’m not trying to sleep?” Ellie groaned.

Joel cleared his throat, schooling his expression and promptly reopening his book. “No idea what you’re talking about, you were snorin’ the house down.”

“Pfft, yeah right!” Ellie rolled over onto her back to look at him but Joel took studious interest in his book, hiding behind it. The way Otis moved was different to Joel, there was no way she wouldn’t be able to tell their movement apart.

Ellie lay there for a moment, studying the lines of his ageing face and allowed herself to wonder, not for the first time, if he was happy. He seemed to be opening up more, focusing on his own life instead of worrying about how she was doing with hers all the time. Not that she’d ever faulted him for it, but back then she’d needed some space after what she’d discovered about the incident at Saint Mary’s. It all felt so long ago now, irrelevant even. She didn’t really want to think about it. “What time is it?”

Joel lowered the book again to find the clock. “Almost five.”

Ellie sighed and forced herself to sit up. “I should getting going.”

“You don’t have to.” Joel was quick to assure, shifting to get a bit more comfortable on the sofa so that he wasn’t crammed in the corner. “Tommy and Maria invited us for dinner. Why don’t you come with us? Maria would be happy to see you more.”

Ellie gave him a tired smile, rubbing the sleep from her face. “Maybe another time. I don’t want Dina to think I ditched her. She’s going to need someone to take the night shift. Babies get up a lot during the night, right?” She’d been reading.

“Not usually on the first night, but… I get it.” Joel didn’t want to put too much pressure on her, especially given what she’d been so upset about to begin with. “When she’s feeling better, you should bring her ‘round, we’ll make something together instead.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Ellie agreed, somewhat relieved to be making plans again. “Are you going to visit tomorrow?”

Joel hadn’t exactly been sure of his place when it came to Dina’s child in truth. He’d made a lot of furniture for the new baby and even some toys, but he wasn’t expecting to be honorary ‘grandpa’ or anything. “I have a few plans in the morning, if I’m back in time, I’ll try.” Was all he could promise.

“Are you going outside the walls?” Ellie asked.

Joel had put his foot in his mouth again, though he hadn’t really meant to. “Yeah, just… taking care of a few things for Maria.” He also didn’t want to lie to her though. If he expected her to be honest with him, he had to be forthcoming to some extent.

“Alone? Want me to come with?” Ellie didn’t feel very comfortable with the idea of him going anywhere new, not after what happened with the SLC- and especially now that Owen was out there somewhere. If she found out about them taking Abby…

“No, not alone, Otis is coming with.” Joel assured.

Ellie tried not to smirk. “Oh, like a date.”

“Ellie.” Joel gave her a wry smile, telling her to mind her own business.

“Okay, it’s really not that big a deal. I’m happy for you.” She protested, slumping in her seat after a good stretch. “Are you happy?” Her tone was light with humour, teasing even, but the question was heavy.

Joel decided he’d rather physically escape this conversation than get too much into it, taking his cane to pull himself up. “I’m doing just fine.” He dismissed, a soft silence falling between them as Ellie’s eyes tracked him across the room.

It lingered somehow. The passage of time. And Joel was more uncomfortable with it than Ellie was. Some part of him hated the way he broke down after what happened at the Lodge, for the way he became so bruised and easily winded. He’d known, of course, that someday he would get old, but he hated Ellie seeing that he wasn’t as strong anymore.

“I kept your place in good order.” And of course he broke that pensive silence to get away from his discomfort as he waited for her in the hall. “If you ever need a little peace and quiet, you’ll find it just as you left it.”

Ellie smiled as she joined him. “I appreciate it.” But she wouldn’t be needing the place hopefully. It still meant the world to her knowing that she would always have a place to come back to, no matter what.

“Take care now, you hear?” Joel saw her out, standing in the entry way while she slid on her shoes.

Ellie backtracked from the door and threw her arms around him in a hugged. “You too.” It was brief, but she smiled as if nothing was wrong.

Joel tried not to worry too much, not every bit of emotion was an indicator of a crisis. Everyone got upset about something sometime, and Lord knew he didn’t have anything figured out when he was her age. “Don’t be a stranger, kiddo.” He gently tapped her freckled nose and kissed her head.

Ellie laughed, rubbing her forehead at the bristle of his beard. Sometimes these rare displays of affection made her feel like a little girl but she didn’t hate that anymore. She had never been anyone’s little girl until she’d met Joel, and now she could only hope she would never be without him. “Take care of yourself, Joel.” She requested, lingering a moment. “And of Otis too.”

“He takes care of me just fine-” Joel was reluctant to admit out loud, but if it put Ellie at ease around Otis some more, then he was okay with saying it. He was so used to people questioning if Otis was a suitable match for him that he didn’t immediately realise that Ellie had asked him to take care of the man and not the other way around. When it occurred to him, he flustered and gave a grumbled affirmation. “Yeah… I’ll try, if he’ll let me.”

“Well, he’s just like you.” Ellie’s smile came easy and she walked away with a lightness in her step.

“I’m not that bad.” Joel protested, following her to the threshold but he resisted the habit of following her further.

For now at least, it didn’t feel like Ellie would be leaving forever, but it was always a bittersweet thing to wait for her return. Joel shut the door once she was out of sight, visiting the kitchen briefly before locating his partner in the living room.

Otis had fixed his coffee, the cup steaming where it sat on the coffee table. He was holding his bad arm against his stomach and staring off into space again.

Joel came to stand over him, gently touching his shoulder. “Is it bad again?”

Otis winced. “Just a little.” He suppressed a groan as Joel proceeded to massage the aching joint. “I took some aspirin. Should kick in soon.”

“You’re using it too much.” Joel scolded half-heartedly, bringing his free hand around to cup his face. “You keep telling me I need rest and you won’t sit still for two minutes.”

“You know I can’t.” Otis sulked, shutting his eyes and tilting his head as Joel’s hand squeezed at the crux of his neck, moving around to the back to continue the motion.

“You know what I think you need?” Joel asked, his tone picking up with the indication of a bad joke to follow. “Some good old Miller time, c’mere.” He brought his arms around him loosely, an invitation to relax into him if he wanted to. “Ellie told me to take care of you, you know.”

Otis opened his eyes to watch him sceptically, waiting to see where this would go. He didn’t have to wait long before he felt Joel’s fingers in his hair again. “Not sure this is what she meant-“

Joel pulled gently, forcing his head back and taking hold of his jaw. “Of course not, but we still have two hours and I think I know the best way to get you to sit still.”

Otis offered him a tight smile. “Aren’t you tired?” He felt guilty that Joel knew exactly how to distract him, though he hadn’t really asked for it this time.

“I’m thinking of cancelling dinner.” Joel admitted, just to have him to himself for the evening at least. It was a little selfish but it was his secret. “We don’t have to do anything.” He added, just to take the pressure off. The last thing he wanted was for Otis to strain himself if he was in pain. He manoeuvred himself to sit down on the sofa beside him after a moment, sighing in contentment.

“You can’t keep turnin’ Maria down. All I need is a cold shower and I’ll be good to go.” Even though Otis was a devil with an appetite for Joel Miller, he didn’t want to keep running away from the world for fear that he’d become addicted to this escape and never return back to reality.

Joel smiled, gently nudging his cheek. “A shower does sound good. Can I join you?”

“Ain’t much of a two person job, Miller.” Otis remarked, though he did lean across his lap, using his teeth to help him unbuckle his belt.

Joel threaded his fingers into his hair, mussing it up playfully as he relaxed back into the couch. “What happened to not cancelling dinner?” He teased, caressing down to his neck and lightly running his fingers along the chain of his dog tags.

“I’m only helpin’ you get undressed.” Otis countered, sitting up briefly to unbutton his own shirt- it was borrowed and it was nice, he didn’t want to ruin it.

“Yeah? I guess I should help you too then.” Joel was all too happy to help him out of it, starting on the buttons at the bottom, and leaning in to kiss him softly. “Come here, you.” Joel instructed, gently pulling him closer by the hips to encourage him onto his lap.

Otis followed him without much protest, threading his fingers into Joel’s hair and chasing his mouth for more sweet kisses, each one unhurried and almost explorative. Maybe he needed the world to stop for just a little longer.

Joel managed to undo the last button, then worked on his belt next, letting Otis turn his head and swallowing his tongue readily when it pushed into his mouth. The gesture was familiar but for some reason it made Joel’s stomach twist with arousal every time, or maybe it was the man’s weight in his lap or the feel of a strong arm wrapped around his shoulders- or maybe it was just that Otis Meyer was insanely attractive and he couldn’t get enough of him.

Otis broke away after a moment, studying Joel before pressing a kiss to his cheek gently and then shifting to let him unbutton his pants.

“Up.” Joel instructed, receiving a face full of man-cleavage when his partner complied. Not that he had any complaint.

Otis hated jeans in general, the denim constricting and even now straining as it was pulled down his thighs, proving a chore to get off completely in the current position. He ended up having to get off Joel to remove them, shrugging off the unbuttoned shirt too before helping Joel out of his clothes.

It was about all the time Joel could bear to keep his hands off him, taking him gently in his arms to lay him down.

Otis raked his nails lightly against his scalp as he tangled his fingers into Joel’s hair, brushing his bangs back and cupping his face as the man leaned over him. “Don’t… I mean it.” He pleaded with him quietly and yet he was the one who wanted him close.

The sofa was hardly big enough for them both, Otis forced to make space between his legs to accommodate Joel, a tangle of limbs and a caress of naked skin.

“I won’t.” Joel promised, bracing his arm beside the man to try and maintain his balance. “Didn’t think you’d want to go, honestly…” He admitted, laying lazy kisses against the burn scar on the right side of his face. His free hand brushed some stubborn silver strands back, thumb tracing gently over the scar cutting into the man’s temple.

Otis draped his weaker arm over Joel’s back, his scraped palm tracing lightly down his spine and settling at his tail bone. “I couldn’t tell you what I want.” He confessed with a soft exhale, a tired smile appearing as he admired Joel. “… I have you here and that’s plenty already.” He murmured, his gaze dropping to the older man’s lips. “I do know one thing though. I ain’t ever wanted to keep you from your family.”

Joel’s chest tightened with an emotion he couldn’t put a name to and he kissed his temple, letting his lips linger against the scar there until it passed. “You are my family.”

Otis knew that Joel meant it, but it wasn’t the same. “Don’t do that either.” He wasn’t soft that way, he didn’t need Joel to reassure him of things that never mattered. As long as he came back, he would wait for however long he was gone.

“Do what?” Joel asked, finding it hard not to feel guilty over it though. For most of the time that he’d known him, Joel had always thought Otis Meyer to be a heartless son of a bitch. It had been so easy to think of him as such back then, but now that he loved him, it was different. Whatever shards of this man’s broken heart he could salvage, he damn well would.

“Never you mind.” Otis didn’t need him to, Joel just wanted to try. “Get on up, I’m warm enough.” He nudged him lightly despite making no effort to get up himself.

“Alright,” Joel sighed, a fond smile gracing his features as he took him in one more time. “But tonight, I’m finishing what I started.”

“The hell you will.” Otis smacked him playfully so he could get some more room, moving out from under him to pick up their clothes. “You’ll be snoring by eight with enough dinner wine in you.”

Joel laughed and stood, his hands coming around Otis’ waist and drawing him back into him so he could hold him just a little longer. “How about a little now? We can have a nice bath, put on some good music?” He suggested, pressing kisses to his good shoulder.

Otis wasn’t used to Joel being so openly clingy but he couldn’t say he hated it. “Do you really not wanna go that badly?” He asked, giving up on tidying the place and taking Joel’s hand to kiss his knuckles instead.

“Not that I don’t want to… I just want to spend time with you more. Feels like I haven’t been doing enough of that lately.” Joel admitted quietly, resting his chin on his shoulder. “You’ve been real sad and I can’t keep ignoring it.” This was noted much more quietly, as if he was wary of overstepping by pointing it out so bluntly.

Otis’ gaze softened, his eyes downcast as he studied Joel’s hand in his, gently tracing over a faded scar with his thumb. “The sad don’t ever leave me for long, darlin’.” He murmured, a tender smile appearing despite the confession. “But I’m alright.” He really was, it wasn’t just an attempt to dismiss Joel’s concern.

Joel pressed a lingering kiss to his throat, inhaling deeply before allowing himself to relax a little. He just had to trust that Otis wasn’t going to fall apart in his arms, because the thought of that terrified him more than anything else right now. “Is that a no to a bath then?” He asked with a light twinkle of humour.

Otis turned his head to look at him. “Well now, I didn’t say that, you’ll just have to wait til we get home.”

Ophelia stood outside Janet’s room, her hands curled tight in her pockets. She had been stood out here for the best part of fifteen minutes since she’d arrived, the hallway cold with muted sunlight.

All the doors up here were closed, and all the chatter came from downstairs in the private lounge where it was nice and cool with the doors open to allow the air in from the herb garden behind the diner. Except for Kumi who was snoring the house down just down the hall from where she stood.

She wanted to show Janet her new dress and sandals which made her feel like dancing, but she couldn’t bring herself to knock.

They had left Janet crying on the porch in the morning, but judging by the whimpering and sniffling she could hear through the door, Janet hadn’t stopped. Ophelia didn’t know what a broken heart was because she didn’t know love. All she knew was that Otis had made Janet cry without hurting her or raising his voice, and that they had both been kind to her since she’d come to Jackson so she wasn’t sure who to blame.

Her mother did that a lot too when she was growing up. She had cried every time her father raised his voice or hurt her. She had cried until one day she’d just stopped, and then it was Ophelia’s turn. But where her mother had exhausted her emotions to the point of apathy, Ophelia screamed and got angry with hurt.

And now she didn’t know what to do.

Her pie was probably cold and the pastry mushy from being left in the box for so long in hot weather, but maybe Janet would feel better if she shared it with her.

Tracing the wall as she turned, the girl headed back downstairs to retrieve it.

She could hear Mel talking to Otto in the lounge, but the boy had left his dog to wander unmonitored, the German Shepherd appearing busy in the dining area.

Ophelia held the bannister, stopping on the final step as Sawyer stopped whatever he was doing to eye her. She hated the creature. He was large and loud, and loved to draw attention to himself, much like how she saw Otto.

But now Sawyer looked her in the eye, licking his mouth slowly, tail twitching in a half wag. When Ophelia didn’t react to him, he turned back around and continued what he was doing.

Licking at the slice of pie Ophelia had left on the table by the door when she had arrived. The box had been knocked over, the pie crust crumbled and the floor stained in red cherry filling.

Ophelia’s temper ran hot and she forgot her anxiety about approaching the dog in that moment, stomping her feet as she rushed over, snatching the box in an attempt to salvage its contents but it was already too late.

Sawyer tensed at the aggressive energy but remained close to his bounty, lapping it faster instead of stopping.

Ophelia’s breathing sped with upset, but fear prevented her from trying to shove the dog away, her next desperate act to scare Sawyer off seeing her knock over the nearest chair which hit the floor with a loud slam against the laminated wood.

Sawyer flinched, letting out a bark as he took a cautious step back, poised cautiously as Ophelia continued, pushing over another chair and stomping her feet.

“What was that?” Mel’s voice came from the next room, footsteps soon following.

Otto appeared shortly, summoned by Sawyer’s bark. “Sawyer!” He gasped.

Sawyer barked again, the noise making Ophelia step away though the dog saw this as an opportunity to snatch up the last of what he perceived as his treat.

“Sawyer, no!” Otto tried to stop him. “You’re going to get sick! Stop!” He pushed at the dog’s snout, gently but firmly to discourage him from continuing. “Bad dog!” All it took was a single admonishment to get Sawyer to back down, the dog soon settling with a guilty meekness.

Otto, in his naive attempt to fix the situation, scraped what was left of the pie crust onto the tin plate with his fingers, dog slobber and all.

The damage was done though and Ophelia stood there with  tears burning her eyes as she watched him bring it back to her in that condition.

“I’m sorry, Sawyer didn’t mean it. I’ll get you another one-“ He tried to apologise.

Ophelia couldn’t articulate her emotions, but she snapped, screaming angrily and shoving Otto as hard as she could.

Otto fell backwards, cracking his head off the table ledge behind him and immediately burst into tears. The loudness of his crying brought Mel rushing over and Sawyer went off again, barking and pacing restlessly around Ophelia.

Ophelia covered her ears, glaring at Otto even though she knew she hurt him.

“Oh no-“ Mel was quick to comfort him. “What happened, honey?” She cooed, doing her best to be careful seeing as the boy was clutching the back of his head tightly.

“She pushed me!” Otto continued to wail, barely comprehensible.

“I’m sure she didn’t mean it. Let me take a look, okay?” Mel gently moved his hand, grimacing at the sight of blood. There was a gash and although it wasn’t deep, it would bleed badly because of the location. “It’s going to be okay.” She would need to clean him up and check him properly though, she didn’t know how hard he had hit his head after all.

“What’s going on?” Janet appeared on the landing thanks to the noise.

“Otto fell.” Mel filled her in, hoping to prevent the other adult from panicking and making the children feel even worse. Unfortunately, there was no real way to prevent Janet from hysterics considering her history and the moment the woman saw blood, the already bad situation became a disaster. “Can you get me the first aid kit from Joanna’s bag?” She tried to direct the woman to something useful but Janet practically snatched Otto from her.

“Is that blood?” Janet’s expression went from concern to panic in seconds.

“I was only trying to help!” Otto sobbed, clinging to Janet instead.

The woman squeezed him tightly in her arms, her eyes watery.

“It’s not as bad as it looks-“ Mel began, hoping to again calm the situation.

“He’s bleeding from his head, Mel!” Janet snapped at her though, picking Otto up despite the pain in her arthritic joints. “I’m taking him to the hospital!”

“I can just examine him here!” Mel tried not to be frustrated because it wouldn’t help anyone, but there was no getting through to Janet when she was in a frenzy and she didn’t really want to leave her infant daughter unattended for too long.

“It really, really hurts…” Otto whined, burrowing more into Janet’s chest and clinging to her with his sticky hands.